Strange Angels
by elanurel
Summary: Centuries have passed since the sealing of the Grigori, and the children of the Nephilim walk the earth. Sam and Dean stumble across the Circle of Enoch, finding themselves in the midst of a prophecy that Sam is destined to fulfill. COMPLETE
1. A World Without Heroes

_**Strange Angels**_

This is set sometime after the end of Season 1. While it doesn't break canon to my knowledge, it is definitely AU. The Winchesters survived – John is off searching for more information on the demon, and the boys are playing knight errant.

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**Characters:** OMC (Aaron)

**Disclaimer:** The Winchester boys aren't mine. The Colt isn't mine. Wish the car was mine. But I can only blame myself for the Circle of Enoch.

**Rating:** M (Overall)

**Summary:** The Circle is broken.

**Feedback:** Absolutely!

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**Prologue: A World Without Heroes**

Aaron reached forward and switched on the radio. Gene Simmons' distinctive voice filled the cab.

_A world without heroes  
Is like a world without sun  
You can't look up to anyone_

He glanced wryly in JD's direction as the lyrics hit home. During his entire life, Aaron had believed the Beata were heroes. He had sacrificed dreams on the belief that he was fighting the good fight, just like his parents and untold generations had before him. That one day, the children whose coming was foretold would change the world.  
All that the Beata had to do was hold on to it long enough.

Aaron didn't remember who said "absolute power corrupts absolutely" but it certainly applied. Maybe their parents had never betrayed them – maybe their parents did not yet know what the Council would become and all those stories of duty and honor were still real for them. Maybe their parents believed that the gifts still active within their sacred blood sealed their true purpose, and it was a good one.

But the dreams showed the lies within the vow.

In his dreams, a dozen young men and women did the unthinkable – they broke the Seal, giving the world that generations of their families had sworn to protect to the Grigori.

Aaron could see their reflections in the rear-view window while he adjusted the mirror, the ghosts of a future that could never come to pass. A dark-skinned young woman who smiled, her mouth bloodstained mouth as she danced with the dead body of a young boy. Blonde twins walked between plants that withered as they passed, their black eyes glittering with power. A laughing red-haired girl reveled in the pain she chose as a companion, whose light touch with an ichor-covered hand caused her victims to bleed from every orifice. And darkest of all was the hazel-eyed devil with the face of an angel, sacrificing every carnal pleasure as he left behind a trail of shattered bodies.

They were the Betrayers who would break the Seal for Shemhezai.

And Shemhezai was beauty itself in the midst of his ascension, with blue-green eyes and JD's smile.

At his altar, Shemhezai was surrounded by faces Aaron recognized; high-ranking members of the Council could be seen in the throng – including his father, a sharp betrayal that stung like a ritual blade to his own chest. The children were there, too – the young women who were Shemhezai's consorts and the young men his warriors on earth. Every one of them had become a vessel for one of the Grigori, their smiling faces and easy laugher belying the fact that they were ushering in Armageddon, and they ignored the dead husk of the boy who would become Shemhezai laying broken on white stone.

It was a future that could never come to pass, a mission that required faith and sacrifice.

To keep twelve children from becoming the Betrayers, parents would remember the vows forgotten by their grandparents: that the blood of the Nephilim was a sacred bond to protect humanity, a power given to withstand the Grigori by God himself when the angels fell. The Beata were God's warriors, given visions that sent them where they were needed most, and it was their duty to fight the unbeatable foe. It was their duty to die fighting. It was their duty to fight in death.

But not everyone answered the call to action.

Only eight of the children would be saved. The others would remain with the Circle of Enoch, corrupted by the Council and molded to serve its dark purpose.

Those few who still lived by the code were giving up their unimagined lives on a gamble. They were giving up each other, the only family that they had ever known. The plan had been set into motion, and tonight would be the last time they fought by each other's side. Tomorrow morning, when the dust settled onto the rubble of a broken Circle, those who remained would have already gone their separate ways.

Aaron prayed that it would be enough.


	2. I Have the Touch

_**Strange Angels**_

This is set sometime after the end of Season 1. While it doesn't break canon to my knowledge, it is definitely AU. The Winchesters survived – John is off searching for more information on the demon, and the boys are playing knight errant.

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**Characters:** Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, OMC (Alex Masters), OFC (Charlotte Webb)

**Disclaimer:** The Winchester boys aren't mine. The Colt isn't mine. Wish the car was mine. But I can only blame myself for the Circle of Enoch.

**Rating:** M (Overall rating. This chapter is fairly tame.)

**Summary:** Sam gets tested. Dean gets testy. Charlotte wishes she got the nachos.

**Feedback:** Absolutely!

**Miscellaneous:** Special thanks to Raven9 for all her hard work being my beta in this section.

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**Chapter One: I Have the Touch**

Back in college, Charlotte would have killed for a bar like _Alfie's_.

It was dark and more than a little pretentious, tucked between the dorms of Emerson College and a small street of Victorian houses nicknamed Fraternity Row. Someone had decided to cover the walls with devil masks and supernatural scenes, lurid pictures of witches dancing naked around fires or demons chasing down prey – but it had a decent sound system, the beer was cheap and the nachos were tasty.

She would have sat in a pit for a DJ as good as the one who had been spinning at _Alfie's_ for three nights running.

_I'm waiting for ignition, I'm looking for a spark –  
Any chance collision and I light up in the dark._

"You're unbelievable." Alex's voice interrupted her thoughts, breaking into the music. "We're on a mission, Charlotte."

Alex Masters lived for his missions. If something didn't fulfill the Council's wishes, it was an unnecessary temptation. And the man did not give into temptation. He would let himself bleed out for the Council if it would do the job, believing everything that the Circle of Enoch taught about blood and power, and the only time he smiled were those days when Alex Masters was doing the Council's bidding.

Sometimes she wondered if he went to sleep reciting the Council's mantras to himself.

_Pleasure leads to weakness. Weakness is unacceptable. Only the strong will fulfill the mission._

But it wasn't like the mission needed _her_. Charlotte wasn't a total idiot – traveling with the man for three weeks had taught her one simple fact. Alex Masters thought she was a silly girl best left with her books. What did it matter that she liked Peter Gabriel?

What really mattered was figuring out why the Council sent her along with him. Charlotte's expertise was in research. It wasn't like she could stop a monster by chucking Hesiod's _Theogeny_ at it. And she was weak, listening to music when she wasn't reading poetry instead of following Alex's lead and watching their target. He would have no problem reporting her behavior in the debriefing. He'd probably enjoy it, as much as he enjoyed anything that wasn't following a direct order.

She shouldn't have cared about that. Charlotte had her own reason for staying with the Circle after her mother's death, the means to an end until it was time to set the plan into motion.

"Charlotte!" Alex's dark eyes blazed.

"How are we supposed to blend in if we don't look like we're enjoying ourselves?"

The students who had braved the storm outside were sitting at their tables, nursing drinks and talking softly to each other, but there were two girls in jeans and t-shirts on the dance floor. Charlotte smiled wistfully, watching them sway in time to the music and giggle when they missed the beat.

Seven years ago, Charlotte would have been one of them.

Hell, she was half-tempted to find the DJ, request last night's Orbital remix and join them there. At least it would be five minutes away from Alex's impending heart attack.

"We're supposed to be testing the boy."

Alex sipped at the beer he had been drinking all afternoon, shooting furtive glances in the boy's direction. Anyone watching their table would have would have seen nothing more than an obnoxious frat boy nursing a fetish for a pre-law student instead of a man on a mission for the Circle of Enoch.

It was the third and final night of the test.

And Sam Winchester was taking his own sweet time getting down to business.

The Council had always known about the Winchesters. According to Jacob, Sam was the key to their struggle – dragged into the dark by his father's vengeance the night his mother died – and the Council had used the Circle's resources chasing down rumors. Finding people in small towns and out of the way places whose stories ended up in a file with Sam Winchester's name on it. But John Winchester hid his son well and the Circle had never been able to find Sam Winchester until he showed up as a freshman at Stanford.

"You worry too much, Alex."

Charlotte glanced at the Winchesters' table.

Sam was working on his laptop, ignoring his surroundings and the two girls out on the dance floor who had decided to vie with each other for his attention. Teachers throughout the country had said that about him, that Sam Winchester made a habit of getting lost in his studies until all that was left was Sam and his books. Charlotte could appreciate that; she could lose herself in a library easier than she could lose herself in a song.

Those hours alone with his books had paid off with a full scholarship to Stanford Law and a transcript most people would kill for.

The bigger mystery was actually Dean Winchester. While Sam studied, Dean spent his time chatting with each waitress dropping off drinks at their table. He had even exchanged phone numbers with two of them, slipping napkins into their hands as they bounced on their way.

Charlotte guessed that was a slow night.

She sighed. Dean Winchester didn't even warrant a file of his own and Sam's file only mentioned him peripherally, a wild card with a penchant for chaos. The working theory was that Dean had retrieved Sam from Stanford after John Winchester had dropped completely off of the Circle's radar. That alone should have made him a threat.

But Dean was not one of the Blessed Children.

And, in the Council's view, that only made him expendable. If the test required that Dean die, then both she and Alex had been told to let him die. All that mattered was Sam. Charlotte hoped it wouldn't come to that. Sam was as important to her plans as he was to the Circle of Enoch – but Dean had done a lot of good and that had to count for something, even when the mission was everything.

Alex slammed his beer bottle onto the table. "Why are you even here?" he demanded.

He wouldn't say anything else but Charlotte didn't need her gift to read the frustration in the pose of his tanned face. She had never faced an enemy in battle. Charlotte lived in her books, in dead languages and old prophecies, and had never once enjoyed the life and death struggle of the mission.

She was just as expendable as Dean Winchester.

"You're acting like an idiot."

Charlotte would have said more but Dean Winchester was looking in their direction. His hazel eyes met Charlotte's from across the room. She smiled at him, exuding as much nonchalance as she could muster under the circumstances, but Charlotte didn't think it would stop him. She knew what the brothers were tracking, a succubus the Circle had let loose on campus to lure them to Emerson College, and Charlotte was a viable suspect – especially given Alex's propensity for outbursts. A succubus evoked strong emotions and anyone trained to know the warning signals would recognize emotional agitation when they saw it.

And Dean had no way of knowing that Alex was naturally an asshole.

She took the opportunity to read Dean as he approached. He was surprisingly well-shielded, caution occasionally flickering underneath his charm. The Circle might have believed that he was a reckless hunter but there was nothing reckless in the way he looked at her.

"Mind if I join you?" he asked. Dean Winchester's smiled was calculated to set her at ease, watching her with a mischievous glint in his eyes. Maybe he wasn't entirely convinced that she was his target but he slid into the booth next to her before Charlotte could respond, cutting off her only means of a quick escape.

"We're busy." Alex swallowed deeply, draining the last of his beer. "Do you mind?"

"Nope." Dean raised an eyebrow. "I've been watching you watch my little brother all night."

Alex frowned. "And your point?"

Dean grinned. "He's not interested in boys."

The smile in his eyes had disappeared.

_Don't laugh, Charlotte._

Alex was furious but Charlotte could be as charming as a Winchester if she needed to be. All she had to do was flip the switch and Charlotte Anne Webb would disappear. "I knew all this poetry wouldn't be good for you, Alex." She pushed Alex's feelings aside, smiling brightly at Dean. "The only cure for Emily Dickinson is beer." Charlotte patted the well-worn copy of _The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson_ on the table in front of her. "That's a lesser known corollary to the 'Only a lager can kill a vindaloo' axiom," she added.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Alex hissed.

"Jokes aren't funny when you have to explain them, Alex." Charlotte sighed. "But I'll forgive you for asking if you get me another beer." She winked at Dean as she reached for her purse, pulling out a ten dollar bill and handing it to Alex. "And could you buy me some nachos, too, please?"

Alex took the money slowly, grinning at her when their fingers touched, and Charlotte shivered.

He wanted to choke her.

"Get me a beer, too, big boy," Dean added, grabbing some money out of his jeans pocket.

Alex snatched the money from Dean's hand and stalked towards the bar in the back of the room. She was going to get quite the lecture when Alex returned and Charlotte doubted that even Dean Winchester's presence would stop him.

With any luck, it wouldn't matter.

"Nice guy. Boyfriend?" Dean chuckled and goose bumps tingled along the length of her arms.

He had to realize what he was doing every time he smiled.

Charlotte snorted. "I'm his tutor."

"That's cool," he replied simply. The warmth in his smile reached his eyes when they flickered across the title on her book and his body relaxed, curiosity overcoming his caution. She was nothing more to him than what she appeared to be, a mousy young woman sitting in a bar reading Emily Dickinson when a succubus was loose on campus. Charlotte could use that to her advantage.

"I should thank you for rescuing me."

_Stop flirting with him._

It had to be his eyes – being on the receiving end of that hazel-eyed stare was a heady experience, even for the girl who realized that Dean Winchester's attention was simply a part of his job.

Charlotte took a deep breath, leaning back in the seat. Alex was waiting for the bartender and he didn't look pleased. He was staring at Sam Winchester pecking away on his laptop and pursing his lips in concentration. Charlotte inclined her head in Alex's direction. "But maybe you should go rescue your brother now."

Dean followed her eyes and laughed outright at that. "Sam can handle himself. It'll just build character." He felt comfortable in the rhythm of the conversation. "I'm Dean. Dean Ables."

Not comfortable enough to use his own name – but that had nothing to do with her.

"Charlotte Webb."

It was the truth.

"No kidding?"

"My father had a unique sense of humor," she answered immediately, her cheeks flushing. She could have kicked herself – mentioning her father was always a mistake, the hole inside of her that she could never fill. And she was still clawing her way out.

It didn't help that Dean Winchester was watching her with the eyes of a son who had lost his mother.

_You idiot!_

Charlotte immediately closed her inner shields. All he was doing was checking her off of his list of potential threats but that split-second of connection had been dangerous. Unexpected. There was no other reason to explain why she had opened herself up completely to the force of his charm, accepting the comfort offered in his eyes.

_Focus on your plan._

"I'm glad I rescued you." Dean's voice was thick.

Charlotte could only nod, trying to call up Miles' face when Dean's arm came around her. He was breathing slowly in her ear, the smell of his leather jacket mingling with the scent coming off of his hair, and Charlotte trembled when a rush of hot air brushed the skin underneath her ear. She was an arrow ready to be loosed from its bow, her body softening against his like it was the most natural thing in the world to do.

"Christo," Dean whispered in her ear.

Charlotte jerked convulsively at the word and caught the look of triumph in his hazel eyes. Dean Winchester was good. _Very, very good._ Knowing that didn't alleviate the pain of his grip as he pushed her into the corner of the booth. "That was your plan?" Charlotte hissed at him.

_I am such an idiot._

"What?" Dean's eyes widened and he leaned into her roughly.

"It caught you, didn't it?" Sam Winchester's angry face appeared over his brother's shoulder. He leaned across Dean, pressing a crucifix into her face – its edges scratching her cheek as she struggled to get free. Sam was holding a leather-bound book and she could hear the cadence of poorly pronounced Latin.

The Winchesters were trying to exorcise her.

"That hurts." Charlotte tried to twist out of Dean's grip. _Why isn't anyone trying to help me?_ Not that she would expect Alex to do a goddamn thing except lean back against the bar and crack open his beer but there were other people in the bar watching two men attacking an unarmed women. The booth wasn't that well-hidden from the rest of the room.

"It burns, doesn't it?" Any semblance of charm was gone from Dean Winchester's eyes. "It's sanctified, demon bitch!"

Charlotte jerked forward with her head, smashing into Dean's mouth with enough force to break the skin. "I said it hurts!" She sensed fear coming from the dance floor and some pervert was actually getting off on what was happening but most people were just trying to ignore it, embarrassed by their inaction. And she sensed panic, as cold as Alex's smile when their eyes met.

_I'm part of the test._

It was obvious as soon as she realized it. If sacrificing Dean Winchester didn't work, throw in an innocent girl. Charlotte didn't know who to be angrier at, herself or Alex Masters. Charlotte jerked forward again, hoping to use the momentum to loosen Dean's grip. "I didn't say it burns," she snapped.

It didn't work. Dean Winchester was too strong.

_And right now, he's pissed off._

There were times when she was growing up that she wished her gift was something practical like telekinesis, because Charlotte would have happily blasted that self-serving grin off of Dean Winchester's face when he started dousing her with holy water. He actually _cackled_ out loud when she gasped and ended up swallowing a mouthful of water.

Sam frowned suddenly and stopped reciting the ritual.

"She's human, Dean."

"Hell of a head butt, though," his brother replied grudgingly. Dean stopped leaning into her, but he didn't relax his hold on her arm. He touched his lip gingerly with a free hand, looking at the blood on his fingers. Charlotte could sense his confusion, the fleeting spark of longing matching the mistrust. "Are you sure?" he asked softly.

"How many times do I have to say Christus before you're satisfied?" Charlotte returned Dean Winchester's smirk with one of her own.

Dean loosened his grip just enough for her to pull herself outside of the circle of his arm. Sam began scanning the bar for signs of danger while Dean slowly backed away from her to get his bearings, sliding off the seat. It would still be hard to get past him – she'd have to go under the table, knocking Sam down to make her escape. _Like I could pull that off._ Charlotte rubbed her bruised arm and looked directly at Dean, her forehead throbbing where she had hit him. "I can't believe you're supposed to be one of the good guys," she said.

"Shut up," Dean replied. He frowned when he saw the knot on her forehead.

But Charlotte wasn't falling for the act again. "Just how successful is this serial killer approach to dating?" she asked.

Dean stared down at her, his nostrils flaring, and she stared right back. She would have said more but the rush of conversation as the room returned to normal was enough to make the back of her head ache, the shock of people doing their best to ignore what they had seen like it had never happened – all that concerted effort to deny the extraordinary.

It was one of the reasons why monsters walked unrecognized in daylight.

"Here are your drinks."

A new waitress was standing next to them, setting their now-forgotten beers onto the table. Charlotte gagged, her eyes watering, and Dean's nose wrinkled with what Charlotte assumed was disgust because he choked when the waitress moved between the brothers.

Sam returned the woman's smile.

It wasn't simple attraction. It was like the waitress had shoved every sexual fantasy into that smile and Sam's body responded. He dropped the crucifix and reached forward to touch the waitress' cheek.

"Hey, cutie," she drawled.

The goddamn succubus was standing right in front of them and Sam Winchester was getting ready to jump her right in the middle of _Alfie's_ dance floor.

"Stay sharp, Sammy." Dean positioned himself between the succubus and his brother, giving Charlotte the room she needed to run away.

A fierce desire to protect Sam thrummed through Charlotte, matching the wild look in Dean's hazel eyes. That was another thing that made Dean Winchester dangerous, another thing the Circle hadn't documented in their files about the Winchesters. There was a reason why Dean went back into a burning house and _he_ was brushing one long-fingered hand down a succubus' cheek. All that the Winchesters had left were each other.

Charlotte swallowed, focusing on the waitress' name tag as she slid out of the booth. "Leanne?" The succubus turned to look at her, the stench so overwhelming that Charlotte gagged on the name. "Where are the nachos?" she managed.

The waitress shrugged her shoulders. "Not out yet." Her dead eyes focused on Sam – and her smile turned hungry.

Charlotte doubled over when a stab of desire lanced through Sam, followed almost immediately by the overwhelming need to push Sam out of the way. Dean was shifting his weight to the balls of his feet, tension unfurling inside of him as he tamped down the panic. Charlotte tried to get his attention with a shake of her head. He didn't know that the Circle of Enoch would never allow his younger brother to die. Alex Masters would protect him, even if Sam Winchester failed the test.

That was the mission.

"Dean, don't do this. _Please_. She'll kill you."

Dean Winchester ignored her. Not that Charlotte blamed him – the Circle was taking his baby brother away from him like they would have that night in Palo Alto. And maybe it was better that he did, because Jacob was wrong. Sam Winchester was just a boy, unable to resist a demon's advances – and a succubus was weak compared to one of the Grigori. How could Sam be pivotal to the fight when the demonic equivalent of a Hooter's girl turned him into a drooling moron?

The dreams never lied.

Charlotte lowered her eyes when Dean braced himself for impact.

"Christo," Dean whispered.

The succubus shrieked, her face elongating when she shed her human form – literally – and the stench of rotting flesh washed over them. The succubus pulled back a full-clawed hand and swiped it across Dean's chest, cutting easily through his flannel shirt and his brown leather jacket, and Charlotte gasped right along with him. The poison had already started burning its way through Dean's veins, an ache that made her skin flush, but that didn't keep Dean from moving back in front of his brother and bracing himself for the second blow.

_You unbelievably brave bastard._

Charlotte bit her lip. The Circle had charged them both with a task, to not interfere unless Sam's life was in jeopardy. Sam Winchester's awakening to his ultimate purpose required him to manifest powers to protect himself when faced with a lesser foe. If the awakening of that potential also required the death of his brother, it was an acceptable price. Dean Winchester was not one of the Beata. There would be no loss to the bloodline.

But Dean Winchester was not expendable.

The succubus screamed again, raising a claw for the next strike. Charlotte swallowed. It was so much bigger than the picture she had seen once back in Jacob's library, the stench so much stronger than she would have expected based on an entry in a research book, and the only thing keeping her from throwing up all over her shoes was the clench of Dean Winchester's jaw as he faced down a carrion beast seconds away from disemboweling him.

Fear snaked through the room, louder than the screams, and the echo of it hummed through the back of her skull.

_Run back to your hole, little rabbit._

Charlotte shook her head sharply and sucked in a breath.

She charged towards Dean, lurching forward when she stubbed the toe of her boot on the concrete floor. She threw her arms around Dean, closing her eyes and hoping it would be enough. The succubus' claw was liquid fire as it raked across her back, burning through her clothes and piercing her flesh and nothing in her books had prepared her for the pain of the connection as they collided with the ground.


	3. Hot Blooded

_**Strange Angels**_

This is set sometime after the end of Season 1. While it doesn't break canon to my knowledge, it is definitely AU. The Winchesters survived – John is off searching for more information on the demon, and the boys are playing knight errant.

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**Characters:** Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Alex Masters, Charlotte Webb

**Disclaimer:** The Winchester boys aren't mine. The Colt isn't mine. Wish the car was mine. But I can only blame myself for the Circle of Enoch.

**Rating:** M (Strong language, gun fu and adult situations. Not to mention, shirtless Dean and shirtless Sam.)

**Summary:** Succubus poison sucks rocks.

**Feedback:** Absolutely!

**Miscellaneous:** This chapter has been significantly revised from the original posting. Special thanks to JMM0001 for thwacking me with a stick and convincing me the story wasn't getting the love it deserved. Both she and Raven9 acted as betas for this section. As always, the good parts are because of them. The bad parts are all me.

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**Chapter Two: Hot-Blooded**

Charlotte Webb didn't look like a crazy bitch when she smiled at him across the dance floor.

She'd caught Sam's eye the moment he saw her. Dean never pegged his little brother as having a thing for redheads but Sammy watched her eating nachos and reading a book when she wasn't looking. Occasionally, she would bob her head up and down, which Dean guessed was her reserved way of getting into the music.

Girls like Charlotte Webb didn't actually dance.

She reminded Dean of a fucking Catholic school girl. Not the bad girls who rolled their plaid skirts up at the waist to fool the nuns checking hem-length with rulers, or the ones you met who could do things with their mouths that most girls never learned. Charlotte Webb was one of the good girls. Dean bet she always got straight A's in all of her classes and never missed Mass. It was the glasses and the way she was always pulling her sweater around herself, like she was uncomfortable in her skin.

Sammy made him talk to her because every woman in the bar was a suspect, including the one too inconspicuous to consider. And she was. It was like a light turned on inside of Charlotte Webb when she smiled at him. She thought of everything. Even the funny little name was a nice touch – Charlotte looked like the kind of girl who spent most of her free time in a bookstore. It was cute when the she ordered another round of nachos instead of pretending she lived on water and rabbit food.

But it was the look on her face when she mentioned her father that made Charlotte Webb real to him.

It was the perfect disguise for a hustler.

Dean could pull a con without breaking a sweat; he did it every day. People didn't fool him like that. Ever. But one second he was convinced that she was a good girl and in the next he was going to crush her against the back of the booth just to see how far Charlotte Webb was willing to let him go. Good girls didn't do that to Dean Winchester and when Charlotte bucked against him like a wild animal, Dean knew that he'd found his girl.

She fooled him once, which was bad for her. Then she fooled him twice – no burns from the holy water, and she roared the name of God back at him like a challenge. Which was bad for him. The girl definitely had a secret – the average Catholic school girl wouldn't recognize a succubus if it bit her on the ass – but he was damned if he knew what it was because she didn't act like a hunter. Hell, Charlotte had tried to talk him down. And when that didn't work, the crazy bitch bull-rushed him.

Which was really bad for him.

Dean stared up at the rafters above the dance floor, laying flat on his ass like a ten-year-old loser in a playground fight. There were five oozing claw marks on his chest that were probably poisoned and a whimpering chick on top of him who smelled like the inside of the Impala after he'd dragged a girl into the back seat.

_What the fuck?_

Dean pushed the girl away and rolled onto his knees. She gave a small cry as her back hit the floor, her body twisting until she was on her stomach and her skirt was bunched above her calves. Charlotte Webb was wearing freaking combat boots underneath her schoolgirl get-up. And he felt like she had just kicked him in the balls. He stared down at her back, feeling the residual ache of the same claws in his chest.

The psycho had earned a little payback.

But he had better things to do than worry about the goddamn chick when Sam moaned.

He was kneeling before the succubus, something like a deep rattle bursting out of his little brother's chest. The demon had ripped off Sam's shirt, gliding one long-fingered hand across his shoulder; the touch triggered small shimmering patterns that Dean didn't recognize, each one washing Sam's skin with a soft blue light wherever one of the symbols appeared. Dean swallowed. Sam's hair was blowing in its own breeze.

_Oh, shit._

The succubus smiled, its black lips a scar, and Dean grimaced. He rose to his feet, ignoring the blood dripping off his shirt and onto the dance floor because there was no way in Hell he was going to stop watching that thing's hand stroke Sam's neck. Not with one of those claws that close to Sam's jugular. Not knowing how those claws could burn through skin and bone.

And the bitch had ripped his favorite jacket.

A small gasp made him glance down at his feet. Charlotte's eyes were round as she watched the soft light coming off of his little brother, her mouth twitching like Sam Winchester getting his glow on was the greatest thing next to sliced bread. It was hard not staring himself, the way the symbols flickered deep, but the demon was doing the exact same thing – gaping at the sigils burning deep inside of Sam's skin.

Dad – his hardass father who didn't take crap from anyone – would have said God was smiling on them.  
Dean didn't know the difference between God and good luck but the shot was perfect. He reached for his back holster, pulling out his Glock. The bullets weren't blessed but they'd do the job.

"Succubitch!" He poured everything he was into the scream and the demon's black eyes turned towards his voice, her chest square within the Glock's sight. "That's my brother," he said, smirking as he pulled the trigger. "Keep your freak hands off!"

The succubus screeched something in her high-pitched voice, the full force of her stench rushing past him. "Goddamn," Dean managed. The marks on Sam's chest and shoulders were getting brighter – and new images were appearing on his arms, more symbols that coiled around themselves.

_Fuck..._

Whatever the sex bitch was doing to Sam, she was going to pay for it. "Don't you freaks believe in personal hygiene?" Dean demanded.

The demon floated in the air. Waiting. Watching.

Darting pain arched through Dean's head, matching the sudden twist of Sam's body as the light coalesced. Sam tumbled backward, landing on the floor with the slap of bare skin against concrete. Dean squinted, keeping his eyes on the succubus. The smile reappeared and she reached towards Sam, her claws glistening wet in the blue glow.

"Oh, hell no." Dean fired twice in quick succession, aiming for the hand. The Glock left nothing but a stump. "I said hands off, bitch!"

His chest ached from the kickback and his head felt the same way it did after hooking up with that stripper back in Memphis. Dean heard a groan from the floor. Charlotte had brought herself to her knees, crawling towards Sam. His little brother cried out when the light pulsed, an inhuman thing pouring out of Sam's body, and the girl winced every time Sam did it. But when her shaking hand touched his brother on the arm, Dean's headache disappeared – at least to the point where he could see straight enough to fire the gun without hitting some emo college kid in the crossfire.

Sam's eyes opened when Charlotte Webb pitched forward, slumping to the floor, and the symbols on his arms disappeared.

"Hey there, Succubitch!" Dean didn't waste any time, watching Sam stand up slowly. The demon glared at him but didn't move. "Think you can take two Winchesters?"

"She can try," his little brother retorted. Sammy sounded exhausted, his voice hoarse over the sound of the music and people screaming and hopefully getting the Hell out of Dodge, but Dean could hear Sam's grin all the same.

"Your taste in women sucks, Sammy."

"Screw you, Dean." And he looked more like Sam when he said it, the sigils fading on his chest and shoulders.

Dean grinned. "Time to take out the trash."

"Hephzibah!" A man's voice roared over everything. That goddamn prick with the hots for Sam was strutting across the dance floor, pointing a tranquilizer gun at Charlotte Webb. It was one of those new, state-of-the-art models with multiples rounds and it looked like a military prototype. Even Dad would have had trouble getting his hands on something like that. "Kill everyone but the boy," the man commanded.

"Alex, no! You can't do this." Charlotte's voice was soft but Dean recognized the look on her face, the one she'd flashed at Dean right before slamming her forehead into his jaw. She rose shakily to her feet, gray eyes not leaving the gun. "You were chosen to serve," she said.

Alex smiled. "I serve the council." Dean wouldn't have been more chilled if that grin suddenly revealed razor-sharp teeth and whatever the Hell "the council" was, they probably weren't people to mess around with. Not if the prick was anything to judge by. There was a sword strapped onto Alex's back and he moved like he was trained to use it, never crossed his feet as he walked forward. The blonde man sneered. "I don't answer to you."

"You can't just kill these people." She gestured a hand towards what was left of the stunned patrons. "No one is expendable, regardless of what the council said." Charlotte glanced at Dean, her face darkening. "And you know exactly who you answer to, Alex Masters," she hissed.

_Sucks to be you, asshole._

"You were always the weak one." Alex Masters chuckled and it was a dangerous sound. He stopped to stare at a table where three young girls were huddled together. Two of them had been out on the dance floor, shaking their cute little behinds as they tried to get Sam's attention. "We owe no allegiance to these things," Alex added, smirking right at Dean. "And he's not going to be able to stop me."

"Last time I checked, Poindexter, you weren't the only pretty boy here with a gun." Dean clicked another round into the chamber.

"You really are an amateur," the asshole retorted. He shook his head. "Don't make me repeat myself, Hephzibah."

The succubus screamed and nodded, black eyes focusing on the same table full of girls. The two who were dancing together had thrown their arms around each other and one of them was screaming. The third girl could only stare – and the horror rolling off of her was a breathing thing.

Charlotte was watching them too, standing as still as one of those statues in the cemetery three blocks from campus. Her eyes flickered towards Dean. He shifted his weight to the balls of his feet, gun in position. There was no way the sex bitch could make her move without Dean getting off a shot.

"This ends now," Sam said softly. When he stepped forward, his eyes were glowing the same color as the symbols on his cheeks. He walked directly towards the girls, as calm as if he was sitting back in the hotel room doing research on his laptop, and they looked at Sam like he was a knight in shining armor.

_They got the shining part right._

"I need you to get everyone else out of here," Sam continued. One of the girls nodded when Sam smiled. "As for you," he said, turning on his heel and frowning at Alex Masters. "Take your _girl_ and go home."

The light throbbed once, twice. Dean braced himself, keeping his gun trained on the succubus, and hoped like hell he could still see straight with the way Sam's body stiffened with each pulse because the back of Dean's skull was starting to itch.

But there was no pain.

Between one pulse and the next, Charlotte had fallen to her knees. She bit her lip, her eyes never leaving Sam, and her body tensed with each beat. Not that Sam noticed. He was staring down the succubitch like she was a witness on the stand, and all she was doing was blinking her black eyes right back at him – each blink synchronized with the light's rhythm. But that goddamn asshole's eyes narrowed as sweat beaded across Charlotte's forehead.

"Bitch," Alex spat, kicking Charlotte in the side.

She doubled over from the force of the blow. Alex Masters grabbed Charlotte's hair with his free hand, pulling her back up into a kneeling position, and held the point of the gun against the base of her neck. "If you hadn't interfered with the brother, this would be over by now," he hissed. "Every death in this room will be on your hands, Charlotte." Alex grinned. "And when I'm done, I'll punish you," he added, biting out the syllables as a wave of pleasure poured out of him.

_What the fuck?_

The freak was actually getting off on it.

Charlotte Webb said nothing and she didn't take her eyes off of Sam, her shoulders relaxing along with her tiny smile. His little brother was closing the distance between himself and the hovering demon, more sigils appearing on his back, but he spared a glance in the girl's direction. Only an idiot couldn't figure out that the jackass was going to kill her unless someone did something first, her fate written in the lines of Alex Master's face. Dean had seen enough stone cold killers to recognize one when he was standing three feet away.

Dean didn't lower his gun, even when the back of his head started itching again, but he couldn't move. Stark terror filled him when Dean heard the click of the safety going off on the tranquilizer gun, along with a smoldering wrath that matched the curl of Alex's mouth.

It was too much too soon – and none of it was coming from him.

Sam's glowing eyes focused on him, the calm before the storm.

Dean pushed the panic inside himself and waited. Sam's smile was enough. The whole thing was screwed sideways but they were in too deep to crawl out. And there wasn't a lot that Sam could hide from him, even when he was shining like a neon light. Even when he was holding his hand right in front of him, palm open and facing the ceiling. All it took was one glance in Charlotte's direction and Dean started shifting onto the balls of his feet.

The glow throbbed and Sam closed his fist.

He didn't need to be told twice, tossing the gun and diving for Charlotte – knocking her to the floor as the succubus exploded. Alex soared backwards from the force of the explosion, crashing into the wall with a hard crack. Demon flesh and black blood rained on them, the room smelling worse than it had when the succubus was all in one piece, and Dean stretched out on top of the girl to shield her from the worst of it. His back spasmed when he moved, twin to the tenderness in his chest, and Charlotte's face twisted as he shifted his body.

It was his own goddamn fault, him and that goddamn soft spot for Catholic girls.

Someone had left the DJ booth with the turntable running.

_I'm hot blooded, check it and see -  
I got a fever of a hundred and three.  
Come on, baby, do you do more than dance?_

"We have to stop meeting like this, Dean Winchester," Charlotte managed, her hand shaking as it brushed his cheek. She smelled like fucking strawberries, sweet and ripe and begging to be sucked. The warning siren in his head wanted to ask how Charlotte Webb knew his real name but it was quickly over-ruled when her hands started tugging his shirt out of his jeans.

He was going to screw her. He was going to feel her body writhe against his as she bit his shoulder hard enough to break skin.

_Fuck me with a stick._

"You're not my type. "

It was the succubus poison, burning its way through both of them. Knowing that didn't keep his lips from brushing against her ear or his hands from moving on their own, slow strokes up her sides that had her shivering. Dean felt another sharp twist in his back as Charlotte arched into him, her cheeks flushing when their eyes met. The way she blushed, there was nothing in the world that was going to keep him from finding out whether her tits tasted like strawberries.

"I'm a girl with two legs and a pulse," she retorted, her lips so close to his that he felt her breath. "Are two legs even required?" Charlotte's hands snuck up underneath his shirt. "We can't do this."

"Why not?" He started nuzzling her neck, short nips with teeth that made her quiver. She scratched slow circles on his back, curling up into him when he licked the length of her collar bone. "Do you want me to stop, Charlotte Webb?"

"God, no," she whispered. Charlotte sucked in a breath and jerked underneath him, her hands moving to his waist. "But your brother..." That was the only warning she gave before jabbing him in the chest roughly with her fingers, digging into one of the gashes left behind by the demon's claw.

"Son of a bitch!"

It hurt like fuck, radiating through his chest hard enough for his eyes to tear up, but it was enough of a shock for him to regain control of his body. Dean shoved himself off of Charlotte Webb, watching her scuttle out from underneath him, heedless of the gore she was crab-walking through just to get the hell away from him.

"You have to find Sam!" Charlotte's face was pinched and she frowned at him like it was his fault they were on the floor to begin with. "He's..."

Dean rolled his eyes. Leave it to him to rescue the one goddamn girl in the whole freaking bar who returned the favor by giving orders when she wasn't trying to bang him on a demon-covered dance floor. And there was no way she was getting anywhere near Sam. Dean shot her a grin. "I hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but Sammy doesn't go for girls who are all frumpy and articulate." He snorted. "You dress like a grandmother."

The look Charlotte gave him would have withered a lesser man's dick but it just made him want to throw her against a wall and hike up her skirt, feeling the rough edges of her boots dig into his thighs. "You have five minutes. Maybe ten if your brother can control it. After that, Alex will have him in the van and ready for transport. You're looking for a blue Dodge Caravan in the parking lot with a Connecticut license plate." She pulled her blood-splattered sweater more tightly around her. "And I do not dress like a grandmother!"

"You're wearing a cardigan sweater," Dean shot back. He stood up shakily, keeping as much distance between him as he could because the closer he got to her, the better she smelled. Succubus poison sucked rocks. Even his teeth felt fuzzy, his ears ringing with the echo of her 'God, no' when she bit her lip. He spotted the Glock and picked it up. "But why not just kill him?" he asked.

"Because the council wants your brother alive. He's important to them."

_If you hadn't interfered with the brother, this would be over by now._

"And me?"

The expression on her face softened and Charlotte shook her head as she pushed herself to her feet. It was awkward – she was definitely favoring her left leg and just as determined not to show him that she was. Not that it should have mattered to him, the way Charlotte Webb had played him just so that asshole had enough time to let that succubus loose in the bar. She turned her back on him and started walking away, the edges of the cuts on her back shining from the blood. The same angry tracks on her back that a demon had left on his chest.

_If you hadn't interfered with the brother..._

"Where the hell do you think you're going?" he demanded.

"As far away from this as possible," she answered. Charlotte headed back towards the booth, shuffling across the floor as she limped away from him. He watched her rummage behind the heavy curtain near the booth, pulling out a yellow duffel bag and a small wooden case that looked like it was for a musical instrument or something. Charlotte's eyes widened when she turned around and he was still staring at her. "Why are you still here?"

"Because you're taking me to the car, Psycho Girl." Dean pointed the Glock at her.

Charlotte's body relaxed, a deliberate unfurling of tension, and she flung her duffel bag over her uninjured shoulder. Dean could feel the soreness shooting through her when the duffel bag brushed the wounds on her back, which would have surprised the shit out of him on any night when Sam _wasn't_ covered with freaking blue sigils, and the color drained from her face. But she pulled a smile up out of someplace, the same one she flashed when he waved at her across the dance floor. It reminded him of that damn song Sam used to sing all the time about the blue bird and the goddamn light switch.

"Dean, you don't need me. There's only one Caravan in the parking lot."

"This isn't a request." He narrowed his eyes, gesturing at her with the gun.

"Fine," she spat out, her mouth flattened into a thin, sharp line. "Just don't touch me."

Charlotte turned on her heel and started picking her way across the gore-covered dance floor, her boots stomping towards the front door. Dean smelled a whisper of storm-fresh air when her hair whirled behind her but the gashes on her back glistened back at him, a clotted crimson that reminded him why he wanted to screw her in the first place. Charlotte's weight shifted onto the balls of her feet, like she was getting ready to run.

_Nice try._

Dean grabbed her roughly by the arm. "Granny sweaters don't turn me on," he snapped. And there was a phantom ache on his arm that matched his grip on hers, phantom fingers digging into him at the same time he clamped his hand around the sleeve of her light green sweater. _Fuck me..._ He grit his teeth, pushing the gun underneath the duffel before positioning it at the small of her back. The curve of her neck was close enough to suck, small wisps of red hair brushing against her flushed skin right where her neck met her shoulder.

"Bea Arthur has a pulse."

_Jesus Christ!_

Dean sucked in a breath, closing his eyes. An image of his brother laying unconscious on the floor of a minivan moved Dean forward. Sam was gagged, blind-folded and hog-tied; not exactly the optimum escape scenario. Hell, whoever 'the council' was, they had access to prototype weapons – and only Alex Masters knew what cocktail was actually in the gun.

"This is not my best day ever," Charlotte muttered. Dean didn't know if she was speaking to herself or expecting an answer from him. On one of his better days, he'd have had Charlotte Webb on her knees, his hands leaving bruises on her hips while she rocked against him – purple marks against soft skin that marked the tempo of his pleasure. Wouldn't even need the succubus poison to convince her, just a smile and a promise that only lasted one night.

Charlotte's breath came out in a huff and she limped resolutely forward, fists clenched at her sides.  
When she reached the door, Charlotte twisted to look at him. He dropped her arm, watching as the duffel slammed into her back and she bit her lip. A short, sharp sound filled the air between them when the bag made contact with the lacerations on her back; the same short, sharp sound she was going to make when Dean was inside of her.

"Do you know what will happen if they get your brother, Dean Winchester?" she asked suddenly.

Visions of slamming Charlotte Webb against a mattress with the force of his thrusts, her mouth raw on his neck as she sucked, were replaced with his little brother's shattered body – a broken shell laying before a white altar, played out in his dreams since the night Meg Masters had died. Sammy. Shattered. Dean had memorized that face every night before the confronted the yellow-eyed demon and lost. Hell, he walked around that altar when he was in the coma; memorized every detail down to the pattern of the entrails splattered on the white stone. Down to the look on Meg Masters' face when she kissed Sam's blood-soaked forehead.

_I'm doing this for the same reasons you do what you do. Loyalty. Love._

Probably wasn't a coincidence that goddamn Meg and the asshole planning on dragging Sam away for 'the council' had the same last name. And he was the world's biggest idiot, following a girl who was probably setting him up for an ambush the second they left the bar. It was his own damn fault for walking into it.

"Let's go," Dean snapped, clicking the safety off the gun.

Charlotte's eyes widened at the sound but she opened the door and stepped outside. The rain was coming down harder than it had when he and Sam had hit _Alfie's_ for dinner, before most of the college crowd had shown up. Dean spotted a blue mini-van parked underneath the lone light in the lot, two figures facing in other in the space behind the van. Alex Masters had pulled the sword out of the back sheathe and it glowed with the same blue light as the sigils the demon had raised on Sam's body.

Sam had the tranquilizer gun. And he was still standing.

Barely.

But there was no way he was leaving Charlotte Webb behind to call in the cavalry. Dean grabbed her hand and dragged her behind him as he sprinted across the parking lot, her body listing to the right as she ran. A strangled noise came out of her throat every other step, probably when the duffel bag was hitting her back, but the fact that she was hurt meant nothing compared to the fact that she was one of the reasons Sam would be if Dean didn't get off of his ass and do something besides try and bang the chick in cahoots with the guy who controlled a succubus.

One flash of lightning blazed across the sky.

Sam braced himself on the back door of the van as he aimed the tranquilizer gun at Alex Masters. The asshole didn't move, keeping his sword above his shoulder in the stonecutter stance.

"We're on the same side, Sam Winchester," Alex said. Dean snorted. How the hell did a bunch of idiots playing around with demons manage to sound so goddamn sincere when they were making vast pronouncements. "The circle wants to help you. We can teach you how to use your gift."  
The fact that there was a 'circle' to go along with 'the council' was only making things worse. It was like a fucking disease.

"Let me get this straight." Sam's voice had that same cocky lilt he used whenever some brain trust thought he could pull something over on College Boy. "You want me to ignore all those innocent people you were going to kill just to get my attention," he asked slowly. "That was supposed to convince me to join you?"

"A storm is coming," Alex Masters replied. _How many people know about this freaking storm anyway?_ "Some deaths are required." That brought Charlotte Webb to a halt. Dean jerked her forward, both of them shuddering from the ache of the duffel bag colliding with her back. The asshole kept talking like there wasn't even an audience. "You need to trust me," he said, smiling at Sam.

"And you need to bite me," Sam retorted, backing it up with a lopsided smirk.

Alex Masters charged at him with a bad martial arts yell – but Sam was faster. Alex's body froze in mid-stride before it hit the pavement, the sword clattering onto the pavement beside him.

"Neat trick," Dean said, nudging the sword with the toe of his boot. Sam looked like someone had stretched his skin too tight across his chest but whatever the demon had done to him was gone. Dean put his Glock back into the holster.

"It's a tranquilizer gun, Dean. They're designed to do that."

"I meant back in the bar, Haley Joel." Dean closed his free hand into a fist and chuckled. "Succubitch go boom."

"I don't know what that was." Sam's eyes darkened and he lowered his head. He touched a small scar on his chest, slick from the rain, and shivered. "It's like something else was inside of me, showing me how to do things."

_Shit._

Dean let go of Charlotte's hand and stripped out of his long-sleeved shirt and jacket. They were as soaked as Sam, tattered from Dean's run-in with the succubitch, but there was the hope that they would keep Sam warm. As much as anything could, with all them standing there in the pouring rain staring at each other over an unconscious body.

_It's like something else was inside of me, showing me how to do things._

Dean closed his eyes, an image of Charlotte underneath him flittering across the back of his eyelids.

_Maybe we're all fucking possessed._

He had to know.

Dean slid a hand into his pocket, fingers curling around the crucifix. Its edges cut into his palm. "Christo," he said softly.

Nothing happened – except goddamn Charlotte Webb snorted and Sam frowned at him, one arm stuck in the left sleeve of the jacket. It's not like either of them could blame him for being cautious, what with the way Sam was still shaking and Charlotte was staring down at Alex Masters' body, the toe of her boot pushing aside a limp hand while she bit her lip. She looked up, her eyes meeting his. Charlotte shot Dean a smile that made Mr. Happy stand up and pay attention, right before she knelt next to Alex Masters and started rolling the body like she'd found the asshole alone in some alley.

He leaned in closer when Charlotte bent over, her hands sliding inside Alex's jacket. There was a scrap of lace hiding the pale curve of skin underneath when Charlotte's body twisted and maybe he should have been doing something more than watch the way her breasts moved underneath her shirt. Sam coughed, shaking his head sharply when Dean chuckled. Sam had no idea the things that Dean was going to do to her when it was all over. Hell, Sam hadn't even seen that little 'come and get me' smile she had flashed at Dean before getting down to business in Alex Master's clothes.

The girl was trouble.

"Found it," she cried triumphantly, pulling out a key ring. She jingled the keys at Sam. "Take them. You don't have much time." It seemed like the only thing she loved more than teasing a Winchester was bossing one around. Charlotte made a face before picking up the sword. Even the hilt started to shine when she touched it, the same shade of blue peeking through her fingers as the sigils that had flickered down Sam's cheekbones. Sam stared down at her like that banjo-playing kid until Charlotte Webb barked out another one of her orders. "Don't just stand there, Sam Winchester. Open the van!"

Sam was already in the van when she rose shakily to her feet. And the first thing Dean should have done was disarm her but he could only watch her hand trail down her thigh as Charlotte smoothed out her skirt. The girl might have been trouble but she held a sword the same way Sammy did when he was eight and Dad had given him a stupid little plastic sword, even swinging it clumsily to one side with a tiny grin on her face.

Sam acted like he was Luke Skywalker for a week.

"Jesus," Dean snapped. He reached over and grabbed the hilt from her hand. "You're going to hurt someone with that."

God, but he wanted to fuck her.

Even when she was staring at him open-mouthed, the gleam from the sword reflected in her eyes. The only thing keeping Dean from dropping it and crashing with her against the side of the Caravan was the voice in the back of his brain screaming because the goddamn sword was still glowing, from the pommel to the tip of the blade. He should have dropped it but the sword felt like it belonged in his hand. Dean twisted his wrist experimentally, sucking in a breath even when Dad's voice started telling him he should just drop the damn thing, and made a turning motion.

"The ziv zakai," Charlotte breathed. She looked just the way Sam did when he figured out something no one was supposed to know.

"The ziv za-what?"

Saying it out loud himself didn't make it sound any better.

A trembling hand brushed against his as Charlotte touched the hilt. "You called the ziv zakai," she answered. The girl had a hole in her head the size of Texas if she thought Dean Winchester had called anything he couldn't pronounce, especially when it had to do with some freaky ass neon blue sword. "The sword recognized you, just like it would recognize..." Charlotte's voice trailed off when she dropped her hand. "The touch of one whose life is pure," she added softly.

"Your sword picked the wrong damn Winchester."

He might have said more but a sharp stab of agitation made its way through Dean's gut before Sam poked his head out of the van, so sharp that the only thing keeping him from doubling over was the side of the van. It was bad enough just watching Sam's mouth purse before he turned bitch pissy, the last thing anyone should have to suffer was feeling it, too. Dean swallowed.

"He's moving." Sam pointed at Alex's twitching body before he disappeared back into the van.

"Shit!"

Dean dropped, slamming his knee into the small of Alex's back before smashing the pommel down on the base of Alex's skull. It was hard enough to knock him back out and then some, his head bouncing against the asphalt. _Bullseye._ The asshole was going to wake up in about eight hours with one hell of a headache. He stood up, flashing his own grin at Charlotte Webb. "What were you tranquilizing with that gun? Gerbils?"

The inevitable reply was interrupted by his little brother, his voice muffled in the interior of the van. "I appreciate witty banter as much as anyone, Dean, but I need to know what I'm looking for in here."

"The book bag behind the passenger seat," Charlotte said. There was a drawl in her voice that made his cock ache and she bit her lip when her eyes glanced down at his crotch. The combination of her blush weakened by her hungry eyes required every ounce of self-control Dean Winchester possessed not to screw her right there. In the rain. In the parking lot. In front of Sam. Charlotte coughed suddenly, pushing one lock of hair behind her ear. "And..." She shook her head sharply and looked down at her shoes. "And if there's a file box, take that."

Sam emerged from the van, a large book bag flung over his shoulder and the file box in his hands, the kind that a normal person would have used for their taxes or to organize their bills. Dean was betting that Alex Masters kept something else in a box like that. Sam hopped down to the ground, the skin pulled too tight around his eyes when Sam realized that the sword was still glowing.

In his older brother's hand.

"Hey," Dean said. "I can't help it if I've got the touch of one who is pure."

"The touch of one whose life is pure," Charlotte interrupted. She clutched the instrument case to her chest, staring hard at him. "It's about your bloodline." She turned to Sam. "You've got the sword and my notes, Sam Winchester. The rest is up to you."

"What's going to happen to you," Sam demanded.

Leave it to Sam to ask the obvious question. He looked at Dean, his mouth stretching into a thin line, and only a moron couldn't figure out what Sam was going to do about the whole damn thing. And Dean could hear Sam's argument after Dean muttered the 'no' that was dancing between them.

_But she looks so innocent in that granny sweater, Dean. She couldn't possibly be trouble. We're Winchesters. We save people. It's the family business._

Except the family business wasn't about saving the girl who had spent all night drinking beer with the bastard who controlled the succubus. There were questions that Dean was going to make her answer, about the 'circle' and 'the council' and why Charlotte knew their last name. There was a list of questions he was going to make her answer as soon as he figured out what she tasted like, whether she tasted like strawberries or the sky after a storm.

Sam smiled at her.

"I'll disappear." Charlotte returned Sam's smile with one of her own, hiking the duffel bag firmly onto her shoulder. "I'm good at not being seen." Dean felt the rush of satisfaction when her smile turned towards him. "Protect your brother," she said. "He's going to need it." Charlotte shivered and the mask suddenly dropped, her smile replaced by the wicked grin of the girl who called herself Charlotte Webb. "I'll miss your thrilling heroics, Dean Winchester. I didn't even get to see the dashing swordplay."

She was trouble.

"You're fucking around with my brother," Dean managed. "And if you think – " He was interrupted by a moan. Alex Masters was pulling himself up onto his elbows. He slammed the pommel into the same spot he had before. Whatever the hell Alex Masters was, he regenerated faster than a vampire.

"Just shoot him with the gun," Charlotte said, "and then run like hell." She started to limp towards the van, slowing down when she realized that Sam still had the keys. Dean could read it in the way her shoulders slumped.

"We're going." Sam pointed the gun at Alex's leg and pulled the trigger. "Now," he added. Sam grabbed Charlotte Webb by the arm and started dragging her behind him towards the Impala. Her eyes narrowed and Sam was lucky that she wasn't in a position to head butt him.

Fuck, they were _both_ lucky that she was keeping her mouth shut.

And he was lucky that Sam was the one touching her. Being close enough to smell her turned the poison from a small itch into a slow burn.

When they reached the Impala, Sam didn't even pull out the keys. He just placed his hand on the back door and waited for the click before he whipped the door open and shoved Charlotte inside, duffel bag and all. She landed with a sickening crunch on the instrument case, crying out as her back made contact with the seat. Dean winced right along with her and watched Sam pull the same trick on the passenger door before he slowed down long enough to focus on Dean. Sam frowned when his eyes focused on Dean's chest.

"What the hell happened back there?"

"Just some quality time in the place where everybody knows your name." He swallowed. "When did you become Psychic Car Thief Boy," Dean asked slowly.

Sam's mouth twisted. "Missouri told me to practice on something small. And I thought it would be useful." That was a goddamn understatement. Dean was already imagining the things they could pull off in their spare time when Sam said, "I'll drive."

"No way, dude."

"Have you looked in a mirror lately?" There was no arguing with Sam when he went from bitch pissy to stubborn. "I said I'll drive," he snapped, grabbing the sword from Dean's hand. The glow brightened until Sam set it on the passenger side of the front seat, sliding the file box in front of it. Sam slipped the book bag off of his shoulder and set it on the floor, glancing into the back seat. Psycho Girl was staring behind them towards the minivan where they had left Alex Masters, her body twitching like she was a bear in a trap. "That guy was going to hurt her," Sam explained. "Bad. Said she betrayed the circle."

"Whatever that means. Look, Sam..." Dean's mouth snapped shut when Sam rolled his eyes. Anyone could see that the girl was trouble but his little brother was too caught up in the rush of being Sammy Potter to see it. And that mojo she could pull around herself like some kind of faerie glamour gave off one hell of a damsel in distress vibe. Dean sighed. "I just have a really bad feeling about this," he said.

It was going to get worse when she was in the car, filling the whole goddamn thing with the musky aroma of desire until all he wanted was to burn with her.

But he sure as hell wasn't telling Sam that.

Dean started pulling out the book bag and bumped into Sam.

"What are you doing, Dean?"

"Putting her junk in the trunk, Sam." That only made Sam frown and yank the book bag out of Dean's hand, deliberately placing it on the passenger seat next to the sword and the file box. "What the fuck," Dean managed.

"In case you haven't noticed, that girl is wound up tighter than a corkscrew." Sam jerked his head towards the car. Charlotte's face crumpled when her fingers curled around one of the broken pieces of the instrument case, watching it tumble to her lap when she let it go. "I'm worried about her."

"Either I drive or we put her crap in the trunk because there's no way I'm sitting with her in the backseat of my own frigging car."

"You're a little old for cooties," Sam retorted. "Does she smell or something?"

"What?" Dean did a double-take. _Like strawberries._ He found his voice. "No!"

Sam leaned in close, his voice a hard whisper. "Look. She's a liability but she's Dead Girl Walking when that asshole wakes up and we both know it." Sam's eyes were as hard as Dad's, the truth impossible to deny. "And she's sitting there thinking about opening the door and rolling out before we even leave the parking lot."

"And I'm failing to see the problem with that." Her solution solved more problems than it caused, except for the fact that Sam was right. Alex Masters would enjoy killing her, would probably take it slow and steady. _If you hadn't interfered with the brother, this would be over by now._ Dean frowned. _Damn it._ He grinned at Sam. "You can read minds now?"

"No, idiot. She's casing the door."

"Huh." Dean shrugged his shoulders. "Not very subtle, is she?" Dean pitched his voice loud enough for her to hear, chuckling when Charlotte's head snapped in his direction.

"Just get in the damn back seat," Sam growled. He set the tranquilizer gun behind the file box, glaring at Dean.

It was the start of the same old pissing match they'd get into that could only be settled with 'rock, paper, scissors' but Winchesters always paid their debts. He owed her. Dean sighed and slid into the back seat, slamming the door behind him. All he had to do was keep himself from touching her until they got to a place safe enough for her to answer his questions. All he had to do was ignore the sweet scent of strawberries coming off of her, ignore the way she bit her lip and blushed when their eyes met.

Sam pulled the car out of the parking lot, barreling down a side street past the old cemetery and rolling onto the sidewalk just when a group of students were coming out of the gate. One of them flipped off the Impala as it zoomed past.

"Dude, don't crash my car!" Dean's hand brushed against Charlotte's leg. "So, uh, Sammy. Got a hypothetical for you."

"Don't you think there's something you could be asking that isn't a hypothetical question," Sam retorted. His eyes flickered up to the rear-view mirror. "Like what the hell was that guy and what does he want with us?"

"He wants you, Sam Winchester." Charlotte's voice interrupted the burn of tires on the road. She was leaning against the window, staring at the trees outside while the Impala flew down the highway, cradling the instrument on her lap. Pieces of its case fell to the floor when her body shifted – and one stray glance was enough to make Dean wonder if Charlotte would look at him again with those hungry eyes of hers when his fingers were inside of her. She sucked in a breath. "Not your brother. And not me. Just you."

"Why?"

"Twelve of the Grigori will rise in bodies bred for them to stand by Shemhezai, and he will bring Armageddon," she answered. Dean dropped his hand to her thigh, her cheeks flushing as she tucked one wet strand of hair behind her ear and stared at his hand. "And you're the key," Charlotte said.

"Jesus! You're talking about the Book of Enoch, right?" Sam didn't even wait for Charlotte to respond. "I don't remember that in the text, and I've read both the Greek and Aramaic translations."

"There's enough variance in languages – even the ancient ones – that the meaning would depend on the skill of your translator." Charlotte swallowed, pursing her lips. Even though it was all an act, that schoolgirl thing she had going just made him want to fuck her harder. Especially when she lowered her head, eyes widening as she saw the bulge in Dean's pants. "I've always..." Her voice cracked. "I've found that it's easier to translate different versions of the same text if you create a contextual translation."

"I know enough Latin to get by," Sam replied, "But the rest is all Greek to me." He chuckled as the Impala picked up speed. Charlotte Webb, Catholic schoolgirl, was a geek boy's wet dream; Dean would rather have her mouth wrapped around his cock than listen to her go on about contextual translations but Sam got off on the intellectual crap. Dean shook his head sharply. "But what do you mean?" Sam added. "I'm the key to what?"

"Jesus." Dean grinned. "Keep your pants on."

_I won't be._

"I know. It hasn't been a red-letter night for any of us." College Boy stopped looking in the rear-view mirror but he never slowed down the car. "I think we lost him."

"You better keep that tranquilizer gun handy, Sam Winchester."

Charlotte might have been talking to Sam but she was staring at Dean like she wanted to eat him, leaving nothing but bones. She suddenly rested her hand on top of his with a wild look in her eyes, like she was a bird trying to fly in spite of her broken wing.

Goddamn Sam was oblivious.

_I'd ask for a refund at the Psychic Friends Network, dude._

"Don't worry." Sam pulled out his 'priest voice," pitching his voice low and pushing a cassette tape into the deck. Dean grit his teeth when he realized it was freaking _Sweeney Todd_ until he realized that Charlotte Webb was splaying open the fingers on his hand with her own. "But I have to know one thing," Sam asked.

"Are you sure?" Charlotte's voice turned husky. And any other time, Dean might have been impressed; the way she answered a question and made it a warning, even if he couldn't figure out who was being warned and who was getting the answer. Dean tightened his fingers around hers, grinning all over again when she whipped her head around to look at the back of Sam's head. "The answers aren't always what we expect," she said softly.

"He's not entirely human, is he?"

"No, he's not."

"And my powers? I'm not entirely human either."

Charlotte closed her eyes, a decision playing across her face as her mouth twisted and she lowered her head.

"You're one of the Beata," she said simply. "And so is your brother." Charlotte shivered – and Dean could see the look on her face when she saw the sword in Dean's hand, the Ziv Whatever reacting to him with the same blue glow that came off of the damn thing when Alex Masters was holding it.

_It's about your bloodline._

Except the whole thing was a load of crap. Their father had made his sons study the _Apocrypha_ for clues and there was nothing in the Book of Enoch that backed up her story, no matter how serious she looked when Charlotte dragged Dean's hand onto his thigh.

"What the fuck does that mean?" Dean asked.

"You're descendants of the Nephilim," she answered.

_The touch of one whose life is pure._

"Right!" Sam burst out laughing and Dean felt bad joining in when he saw the expression on Charlotte's face, especially when Sam snorted. "So you're saying we're descended from the kids of fallen angels?" Charlotte winced when Sam asked the question but that didn't keep her from sighing when Dean started pulling her shirt out of the waistband of her skirt. There wasn't time to be arguing about who was descended from what when he could touch the skin underneath the wet fabric. Sam shook his head. "You are so screwed, Dean."

He didn't miss a beat.

"God, I hope so."

"Can angels even have one-night stands?"

"It's a fair assumption." Charlotte coughed, her hand trembling on his. Damn girl was actually trying to answer Sam's question. "The Nephilim were half-human and man, by nature, is inherently flawed." There was no way he was going to get to screw her if she kept trying to ignore him. And there was no way he should be screwing her in the backseat of his car while Sam was behind the wheel just because some succubus decided they should get their freak on together. "But some scholars say..."

"Some scholars say what?"

Charlotte's shirt had fallen open, and it clung to her the same way her skirt clung to her thighs – both heavy with water. Dean watched a lone drop slide down a strand of hair, dipping between her breasts as another rush of strawberry-scented air danced between them. She closed her eyes, breathing in time to Mrs. Lovett going on about meat pies.

The whole damn thing was fucked.

"Sam," Dean managed.

"It's too bad you're not a porn star, Dean, because we could make a bundle. Forget credit card fraud. Winchester Productions proudly presents..." Sam grunted, that same goddamn laugh that erupted from him after Sam had super-glued a bottle to Dean's hand back in Texas. "_Fucked by an Angel_!"

"Screw you, Sam!" But there were more important things than listening to his little brother chuckle his way right down the road to an ass-kicking when another tiny sigh escaped from Charlotte Webb. The instrument tumbled out of her lap, settling on the floor behind the driver's seat, and she trembled. Waiting for him. Steeling herself for the moment she stopped fighting to control what started the second they collided into each other on a dance floor. "It's about to get really ugly back here."

"Just let it go."

"Fuck it," Dean growled, launching himself onto her.

She bit his lip when he kissed her, drawing blood that she licked off with one slow pass of her tongue, and she laughed when Dean ripped open her shirt. Buttons sprayed around them as Dean pushed her backwards, his smile the only warning he gave before he hiked up her skirt. Charlotte pulled his shirt off in one fluid motion, smiling back at him when she finally started unzipping his jeans and the metal scrape of the zipper was the only thing standing in the way.

Being inside of her was all that mattered.

The world shrunk to fill the backseat of the car, Dean's fingers hooking into the waistband of her underwear. All that was left was the rough scrape of lace against his chest until he ripped it away, her searching hands and her nails scratching into his back as Charlotte arched into him. Dean Winchester was going to touch every part of her, drink in every smell. Eat every drop.

Dean Winchester was the thing that was going to blaze inside of her.

"Holy shit!" A voice shouted, muffled by the pulse pounding in his ears.

A sharp pain pierced his thigh, and the world disappeared.


	4. Burning Inside

_**Strange Angels**_

This is set sometime after the end of Season 1. While it doesn't break canon to my knowledge, it is definitely AU. The Winchesters survived – John is off searching for more information on the demon, and the boys have just fought a succubus in Litchfield, WI. While fighting the succubus, they have an altercation with the Circle of Enoch, a mysterious group looking for Sam. And they learn some startling news about their heritage from a girl neither of them should trust.

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Charlotte Webb

Disclaimer: The Winchester boys aren't mine. The Colt isn't mine. Wish the car was mine. But I can only blame myself for the Circle of Enoch.

Rating: T (Strong language, graphic descriptions and mild adult situations. Not to mention, more shirtless Dean; I'm all about the Winchester fan service.)

Summary: Being tied up with nowhere to go is the perfect opportunity for a grammar lesson.

Feedback: Absolutely!

Miscellaneous: This chapter has been significantly revised from the original posting. Special thanks to JMM0001 for continuing to thwack me with a stick – I am but a poor, grateful padawan. I would also be remiss by not crediting Raven9 with the best joke in the entire chapter. (See the grammar lesson above.) Lastly, although by no means least, kudos goes to crysodenkirk for assisting a rusty Latin scholar and ensuring that Charlotte's translations are accurate. Both JMM0001 and Raven9 acted as betas for this chapter. As always, the good parts are because of them. The bad parts are all me.

**Chapter Three: Burning Inside**

Screwing Dean Winchester in the back of a crappy old car was so far removed from Charlotte's definition of plan that she hadn't seen it coming.

She followed every step she devised, down to the letter. Her plan was to stay out of Alex's way long enough to slip Sam Winchester a book bag full of notes and disappear. Charlotte kept it simple, relying on herself for the actual trade-off. She defined an entry point and exit criteria, working with one of the student bartenders to sneak in her things and hide them behind the booth. Charlotte knew which local bus to catch to get to the Greyhound station – the bus stop was three blocks down, and you couldn't find it unless you were looking for it. When she told Sam Winchester she was good at disappearing, Charlotte meant it. She began planning her escape when she was nine, carefully cultivating her silence so that not speaking was simply a prelude to not being there.

The escape was all that mattered – waiting for the perfect opportunity, patiently silent as the Council made its plans. The Council used the Circle of Enoch as its own personal army, and had no use for her. Charlotte Webb wasn't a warrior; she possessed neither Alex's gift with the sword nor Meg's gift with magic, pulled from blood. She did not have Daniel's preternatural grace or Allison's cold facility with the elements. Her gift was unimportant, impractical to their purpose. Allison's taunts still haunted her – _You can't make someone cry to death. _As if the killing was the important thing. They would kill soon enough when Shemhezai rose, taking their place within the Twelve. So would she, if she stayed.

But Charlotte had plans and Charlotte had patience.

And Charlotte had dreams.

Dreams of a handsome young man – with Sam Winchester's dancing eyes – standing with an array of equally beautiful people. Sam Winchester's face laughing as the world burned. Dreams of Sam's broken body laying before a white altar – the same handsome face, shattered in an all-consuming fire. Her body, healed and whole, lying underneath Sam Winchester's – Armaros inflamed, one of six consorts to Shemhezai. Mothers of legions. Death wrapped in a gentle touch, pain pulled from blood. Her gift was practical. She could kill. Her dreams provided proof and her dreams provided instruction. It was simply a matter of falling into his destiny, hand-in-hand with the smile that unleashed Armageddon.

She had other dreams. Normal dreams – like finishing her Linguistics doctorate or working out to build her stamina. There was a brown-eyed man she dreamed of marrying; all Charlotte had to do was say 'yes' to Miles Kincaid. She even had a wedding dress in mind, something simple that hid her arms. Charlotte dreamed about her daughter, a little red-headed girl with curly hair and the prettiest eyes Charlotte had ever seen. Charlotte dreamed of taking voice lessons – even though she knew they'd never help – and opening up her own dance club with Jimmy. It really didn't matter what she did, so long as it was normal. So long as it happened in a world without demons.

Sam Winchester was the key.

The Council wanted to retrieve him, to train him to call Shemhezai and lead the Betrayers in breaking the Seal. The day was coming when Sam Winchester would fully Awaken, and he would rival the Grigori themselves. And the Council never realized that its hold on the Circle of Enoch was slipping away – there were Defectors living within their midst. The Circle of Enoch still contained those who were true to the old ways, to the belief that their blood was a call to service; that the Nephilim were Chosen by God and Called to protect humanity. Men like Jacob Morrison, who understood that Shemhezai's power could save the world from its breaking; Sam Winchester was the ultimate fulfillment of that sacred bond, with powers given to withstand the Grigori by God himself – not to become one.

Charlotte's objective was to get out alive.

When Alex Masters pocketed the keys to the van, the plan was still salvageable; Charlotte had no less than three viable excuses for getting them. What Charlotte hadn't planned for was Dean Winchester. The way his eyes looked when she mentioned her father, the smell of the fire that wafted from him. A little boy's memory of the hardest day. The cleverness of him. How he would willingly sacrifice himself to save his little brother, shredded apart by a demon simply to give Sam Winchester the space to run. The feel of his teeth on the sensitive hollows of her neck. Hazel eyes, fierce and ravenous. Or the snarky grin she wanted to smack off his face.

Charlotte hadn't planned on him at all.

Even Sam Winchester – the one person integral to the plan, the piece on which everyone had gambled – was an unknown factor. Maybe it was simply blood calling blood, the song of angels within them all, that made Sam Winchester want to help her. But Charlotte's disappearance was part of the plan. Her role was to give Sam the information he needed to know, and then bow to the audience – exiting stage left.

Except Sam Winchester pulled her back onto the stage.

Just in time for a standing ovation from his older brother. In the back of a behemoth of a car. She was no longer Charlotte, instead becoming a thing with no shame and no self-control – a loose-limbed jumble of desire and urgency, riding as hard as she could. And that wasn't the worst part.

The worst part wasn't waking up with her arms and legs securely tied and feeling like a walking bruise. It wasn't that the wound from the succubus was caked with blood against the bandage someone had slapped on it – and it was still scalding. The worst part was the fact that she couldn't get the taste of Dean Winchester out of her mouth, and her hands still felt like she was scratching his back – she could feel the weight of him underneath her nails. Once she started touching him, it was like a drug. Charlotte didn't want to stop.

Charlotte opened her eyes. She was laying on her left side, cheek resting on a musty pillow. The wallpaper – a green and pink abstract design – screamed cheap motel room. Dean Winchester was propped up against the headboard of the bed next to hers, wearing nothing but a pair of faded boxer shorts; his hands and legs were likewise bound. Each claw mark was swollen, yellow-white with pus – his skin around the wounds an angry crimson. His younger brother was slicing into the bottom gash with a straight razor, pus mixing with blood that he wiped away with a towel. The smell of the seepage was vile, marked with the succubus' rot.

Dean's stomach contracted, muscles rippling. Charlotte could sense the pressure inside him, coupled with the urge to begin licking the sweat that was glistening on his chest. Nausea won over lust and she started dry-heaving. Charlotte took that as a sign that the poison was finally subsiding – until the full weight of those hazel eyes settled on her.

Dean Winchester was a beautiful man – even when he was bruised and bloody. The kind of man who wouldn't have looked twice at her if the Circle hadn't let a succubus loose at Emerson College. He was annoyingly confident – Dean Winchester knew he was pretty and exactly what it could do for him – but Charlotte had to admit she'd never have someone like that ever kiss her again. Frustration itched through her. She needed to be biting those lips.

"How come she gets to wear pajamas and I'm laying around in my underwear?" The boxer shorts failed to hide Dean's erection; the man was almost defiant towards his body's physical response, daring it to go even farther. If his brother hadn't had the foresight to tie both of them up, Dean Winchester's hands would be all over her again. A part of her hated Sam Winchester. "Hey! Granny Girl is awake!" _OK, not so much…_

Charlotte focused her eyes downward. She was dressed in a pair of her own pajamas – long sleeves and full-length pants, the ones with the blue and white stripes on them. Sam Winchester must have changed her clothes while he was dressing her wounds. That made sense – between being covered in demon bits and Dean ripping her clothes in the Impala. She fought the urge to blush; not putting on underwear had been a kindness on Sam's part given the nature of the wounds but he had seen everything. Even more than his brother saw. The scars. Sam Winchester had seen her scars – and he had the kindness to ensure that no one else did. Jacob was right. There was still hope.

"Those _are_ your pajamas, doofus." Sam's voice was weary. Sunlight peeked through the curtains; he had taken care of them throughout the night. "Are you okay?" He turned to look at her. Charlotte was struck by how young he seemed and how open he was with his care; Sam Winchester was not a man who carefully guarded his emotions. "Do you need some water, uh…"

"Charlotte." Her voice was steadier than she expected it to be. "And no thank you." She wasn't going to put anything in her body until Sam was done lancing all of the wounds. "But maybe we should open the window?"

"Deal with it, bitch!" Dean's hazel eyes glittered, anger smashing into her. "You're the reason we're in this mess to begin with." And while it wasn't exactly true, Charlotte was too tired to argue with him. "You and that asshole from the bar!"

"Dean." Sam rolled his eyes. "Let it go." He waited a moment, looking at his older brother with the same calm expression he had used on her. Dean turned his head to look back towards the wall, ignoring her completely, while Sam cracked open the window. The air outside smelled stale, lifeless – but it smelled better than the stench coming from their wounds. "We agreed on this."

"We did not, dude!" Dean's voice was low, and Charlotte knew most of that anger was directed at her. Sam was just the obvious target. "I'm hog-tied like a Texas Longhorn. How the hell could I agree to anything?"

"There's a moral to this story, Dean." Sam grinned.

His older brother grunted. "Enlighten me, Haley Joel."

"Maybe next time you'll learn to keep it in your pants." The youngest Winchester chuckled, clearly amused at his own joke.

"She bewitched me, Sammy!" Dean was completely serious. "You know what they say about all true red-heads being witches." Which was an interesting theory in itself – but nothing beyond anecdotal evidence suggested a correlation between magical ability and hair color. Not that Charlotte was going to point that out to Dean Winchester. _Where the hell did that come from? _ "And she's got some mojo that makes you feel sorry for her."

Charlotte's eyes widened – Dean Winchester sensed her gift. That meant one thing; she was not the only empath the current generation had produced. Not even a telepath could sense the exercise of her gifts – and Jacob had tried, throwing every trick in his arsenal at her to catch her off-guard. Her facility at hiding was probably why he approached her in the first place, since the man had never forgiven her mother for the heartbreak Celeste Webb had caused. And given what had happened in the back of his car, the total loss of self-control – it was a textbook example of two empaths feeding off of each other, causing a loop that spiraled their gifts out of control. If empathy was something you could learn from a textbook. _Idiot!_

"I blew up a demon with my brain," Sam replied. "I'm not worried about her mojo." There was sadness in his voice; even though it had been necessary, Sam Winchester did not enjoy exercising his power. And more was coming as he continued to Awaken. Sam needed a teacher, someone who could teach him control and to maintain his sense of being, but all Charlotte could give him was a book bag full of research notes. "Are you ready for the next one?"

Dean nodded. "Just do it, already!"

"You are such a freak." Sam snorted, positioning himself to work on the next gash.

She laughed, a little self-deprecating laugh that mimicked the one her mother used all the time; Charlotte's dying mother, haunted by her sins – with no one left to forgive her; like she knew the joke was on her. Charlotte couldn't help it. She had come up with a foolproof plan, one that let her live her own life. On her own terms. A normal life with Miles Kincaid. And she had messed it up. Charlotte had no doubt that Alex's mission now included finding her along with the Winchesters, merely to exact the punishment for her interference in the Awakening. Which was bad enough – it was hard to live a conventional life when you were dead. But she had really mucked it up by getting poisoned by a succubus and acting like a hoochie mama in the back of a car.

Her laugh caught Dean's attention. "What's so funny, Granny Girl?" He wiggled his hips at her. "Maybe you're still thinking about Mr. Happy?" Charlotte choked in mid-laugh. Dean Winchester had named his penis. _Dear God…_

"Dean!" Sam interjected. "Do you want me to accidentally cut you? Because if you do, go ahead and continue flirting with the chick." His voice was stern. "Otherwise, keep your mouth shut." A wild look around the edges of Sam Winchester's eyes marked the realization that his brother not only came up with snappy pet names for people, Dean even had one for his own genitalia.

"She wants me, Sammy." Dean grinned.

Dean Winchester was right. Even the lingering smell of his leather jacket in her memory, intermingled with his sweat, was enough to revitalize the poison's effect. Charlotte heard the intake of his breath, and felt the phantom slice of the razor on her own chest. When the putrid reek became too strong, Charlotte resorted to those memories – the smell of his skin underneath her fingers. The taste of him. The blood. And the way she felt when her body strained to meet his – trembling towards its own destruction.

Dean grunted, a stabbing ache erupting in his chest. Charlotte gasped – she felt tweezers stick into her flesh, pulling out a sliver of the demon's claw. The poison was strong, with a preternatural component that enhanced their gifts; even with an empath, she shouldn't be sharing physical sensations. And it hurt. The body resisted, trying to hold onto the sliver of the claw; the hunter screamed as his little brother worked the sliver from the wound. Sam started to choke from the stench – and she could feel Dean's muscles contracting again.

"Dean," Sam gagged. "I need you to relax."

"Just get it out!" The panic in the hunter's voice was a real thing, cutting through the rot in the room. "Get it out!"

"Damn it!" Sam lost his grip on the tweezers. Charlotte watched as the sliver burrowed its way back into the swollen wound. "What the hell?" He was frowning. "It's the source of the poison, Dean. I have to get it out."

"No shit, Sherlock. I figured that out myself." Dean grunted. "That what we sent you to college for?" His shoulder was on fire. It felt like her mother's whole body when the cancer spread – and Charlotte wasn't even trying to share the pain. "What's the problem?"

The back of Charlotte's head started to tingle, right above the neck. _Oh, no._ It was the Call. Someone needed her help. She didn't even have to close her eyes, to catch the vision – the need to place her hands on Dean Winchester was so strong, Charlotte was surprised she hadn't called the Ziv Zakai. She blinked, trying to focus. There was no way in hell she was opening herself up to Dean Winchester, blood or not. She'd helped him once, taken in by the look of a son who had lost his mother, and she ended up screwed. _Literally._

"It doesn't want to come out." Sam took a step back from the bed. He set the tweezers down on the towel with the first aid supplies, and picked up a leather bound journal.

Dean was indignant. "What do you mean it doesn't want to come out? Jesus Christ, Sammy!" She couldn't take her eyes off him; the ache in his chest seemed to shift along his torso, angry reds and purples. Charlotte had never seen pain before. She had shared it often enough, with a touch and a whisper – but nothing like this had ever happened; no echo in someone's memory, nothing to study in a book as a guide. There were tendrils already reaching out to her. Charlotte threw up her outermost shield, watched them bounce and snap back into Dean with a wince.

"It's causing damage to the wound when I pull it out. This could seriously hurt, man." Sam flipped through the journal in his hands, and then looked down at a reference book he had set up next to the first aid supplies. "And we don't have any painkillers strong enough to deal with it."

"What do we have?" His older brother asked.

"Ibuprofen. A little Darvon."

_Oh, no._ And there was something Sam wasn't adding. That sliver had to come out because it was the source of the poison. Without something to deaden the pain, it would get worse. A lot worse. Without a way to take the edge off, work out the energies roiling through Dean Winchester, he would die. And that's when she heard it, a soft voice unrecognized in the back of her head. A woman's voice. _Help him._

Charlotte whimpered. What had she done, colliding into Dean Winchester? _This must be what going mad feels like. _Completely ignored, listening to voices in your head while two men talk about medicinal supplies.

"We were supposed to restock after taking out the succubus." Dean looked at his brother, squaring his shoulders. Charlotte knew he was a brave bastard, had seen the thrilling heroics in action – and the lack of both replaced by resignation was a cutting rebuke. He didn't even have to look at her. "Do we have antibiotics?"

Sam nodded. "We're good, there." He frowned. "But I'm worried you're going to need a transfusion as badly as that thing was bleeding, Dean. It cuts into you every time you move."

Dean returned his brother's frown with a grimace of his own. "Then we pull it out quick. Only way, little brother." He tried to rally, pulling out some of his former bravado with a cocky grin. "That sex bitch isn't strong enough to take me down, Sam." They all ignored the little catch in his voice.

_Help him._

"There's got to be another way." Sam put the journal on top of the reference book, and began flipping pages in both. It was a fruitless search – Charlotte knew what needed to be done. A woman called in the back of her head, begging for her help – a plea accompanied by the itching need in Charlotte's fingers. Another tendril slammed into her shield, more forceful than the one before. She denied them both. If she opened herself up to him, Dean Winchester would suck her dry.

Charlotte's throat exploded with a sound somewhere between a sob and a scream. The smell of blood, intermingled with the pus oozing out of Dean's wounds, was enough to start another round of dry-heaving. All she wanted to do was lay her head down on the pillow and close her eyes, but Charlotte knew that would slam the vision back into her brain faster than anything – faster than the light screeching against her eyelids, the ripped tatters of herself bursting at the seams. A little boy. And a fire. And a baby in his arms.

_Help him._

"Shut up." The back of her head was on fire, and Charlotte pulled the tatters around herself as quickly as the vision had flung her open. "I won't."

"Hey there, School Girl, do you mind not talking to yourself? My little brother is thinking." Charlotte realized she had spoken out loud only when Dean Winchester, snarky bastard, deigned to respond. "Sammy, I know she's crazier than a fruit bat, but maybe she's got some answers."

Sam looked up from the journal. "Leave her out of this, Dean."

"Yeah, Charlotte Webb is a real innocent." Dean snorted. "She was just drinking beer with that asshole." He grinned again. "No one would name their kid after a book like that unless they had something in for their own flesh and blood." His hazel eyes bore into her face. "_My father had an interesting sense of humor_." It was a fair imitation. "Do people actually buy that line?"

_Help him. _

"Go to hell." His head snapped back like she'd smacked him, but Charlotte didn't know if she was talking to Dean Winchester or the voice in her head. The bastard could burn all night for all she cared. "That's my real name, Dean _Ables_."

"Didn't you tell me she knocked you down? I think she was trying to save you." Sam returned his older brother's snort with one of his own. "Those claw marks on her back aren't just for show. She's coming out of this thing with a whole new set of scars!" The words were out before he could stop himself, and Sam Winchester was suddenly looking at her apologetically. _Don't explain._ She shook her head, tried to let him know that it was all right. _Just drop it._ Charlotte had scars.

Dean's brow furrowed; it was an answer he didn't expect. Charlotte could see him processing the thought – and then stop, shrugging his shoulders. It didn't matter. He shot a cocky grin at his younger brother. "She couldn't resist. I'm a Winchester, Sammy."

"You should get that tattooed on your hand," Charlotte returned. "That way when you're trying to pick up someone, you can remember your real name." It was getting easier to ignore the voice in her head; Charlotte turned off the pity, focusing on the arrogance. Dean Winchester deserved every cut. _But not the fire. Never the fire._

Even her own brain had started to rebel against her.

"You're right, Dean. She's totally into you." Sam rolled his eyes – sarcasm was genetic in the Winchester family. Frowning, he slammed the book shut. "According to Dad's journal and the other stuff I've read, the claws are covered in poison – we have to get it out if we have any shot in hell of neutralizing it." _Before you die_. Charlotte sensed that so strongly, it came out as thought. She'd never experienced that before, either – like the connection with Dean Winchester had made everything more sensitive. Sam brushed the hair out of his eyes. "I think I need to go in with a knife."

"It hurts, Sammy." Dean did nothing to mask the pain in his voice. Charlotte closed her eyes. A little boy. And a fire. And a baby in his arms.

_Help him._

"I've got to do it this way." Charlotte heard something rustling in the first aid kit, Sam's frustration at the situation as sharp an emotion as Dean's pain. Both shot through her – knocking her on the inside, where they couldn't see the hairs standing on the back of her neck.

_Help them._

Charlotte's eyes snapped open. That wasn't a woman's voice. It was the one voice she had always obeyed, the one voice she could never refuse. And now the one voice she hated to hear, alone in her head. A little girl. And a fire. And the arms that made her watch. "Wait!" Charlotte cried, more loudly than she intended. Sam was leaning over Dean, a surgical scalpel in his hand. It was shaking.

"Do you mind?" Dean interjected. It was hard to see beyond the little boy in his eyes, and the fire that was always inside of him. Burning each night, alone in his head. "Sooner we get started, sooner I get tequila."

"Have you tried the purification ritual on him?" It was the only question Charlotte could think to ask. Sam's answer would show whether or not her faith was misplaced, or if Jacob had overestimated him. The ritual was the next obvious step. Anything to keep from actually opening her shields up to that pain, and the little boy burning inside of Dean Winchester.

Sam grinned. "That was you, wasn't it? The one who marked the purification ritual for me." It was hard not to return that smile. Sam Winchester had an infectious charm all his own that made you think that slipping a bookmark into a spell book was the smartest thing you had ever done in your life. "I performed it on both of you." He looked at her thoughtfully. "It worked on you, but I think the sliver is interfering with the spell."

Charlotte frowned. It made sense. A secondary focus. "So it needs to come out." Another thought occurred to her – it was amazing how agile the brain could become when fighting against the obvious conclusion. "I wonder if there's another spell in the book that we can use? Something that deadens pain or helps with a healing."

"You red-haired witch!" Dean Winchester was one angry son of a bitch. "You're killing me, Sammy – you healed some floozie who almost banged me on the dance floor of a bar! I'm your flesh and blood!" His hazel eyes were wild, and another tendril bashed into her shield. "And now you're planning on trusting her. With magic? Jesus Christ, Sam!" It got through, ripping right inside her. "Do you _remember_ that crazy Zoroastrian chick?"

"If Charlotte says it will save your life, I'll run naked through Milwaukee." Sam rolled his eyes. "You've got a better idea?"

_Help him._

"Get the tequila now." Dean was leaning forward, a gleeful expression on his face – the anger at his brother now transferred to her. "You can't pull the wool over this Winchester, bitch!" Another tendril ripped through her shields. He was strong. Charlotte had to stop him.

Charlotte focused her eyes on Dean – pushing past the desire to straddle him and scream until they were both hoarse. "Untie me." Her voice was steady, and Charlotte smiled at Sam Winchester. "I'm sure there's a spell in there we can use." Dean Winchester was too far gone with the effects of the poison to be reasoned with – just as full of bravado as any Circle-trained warrior, and twice as stupid. _That's not fair._ She could make Sam Winchester help her with a smile. _There's another way._ This was what she had been trained to do – to calm their fears, to persuade where force was unnecessary. All Charlotte had to do was convince Sam. "I can help."

"Don't trust her, man. She wants to jump me." Dean Winchester said it like every woman wanted to jump him – the same way someone else might say the grass was green or that milk chocolate was sweet. "She's doing that whole mojo thing that she did back in the bar."

"You're sensing that?" The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. _Stupid Charlotte._ He was untrained, using nothing but instinct. Even though Dean Winchester was burning inside, he was still powerful enough – sensitive enough – to pick up on what she was doing. But Sam had believed her despite Dean's misgivings until she opened her big mouth. _Focus! _Sam stared at her with marked distrust. It fought with something else, but Charlotte was too tired and sore to figure out what it was.

Dean Winchester was probably one of the strongest natural empaths the Nephilim had ever known. She couldn't even bring herself to be jealous of that power – every feeling scratching into his bones.

_Help him._

_Oh, no. _That would require an amendment to the plan. Dean had gotten through life without a teacher; he'd last without her help. She owed the Winchesters something for getting her away from Alex Masters. But not that. Charlotte was still a student – and she'd smack him within the first fifteen minutes.

"Don't play a player." There was another sarcastic smirk on Dean's face when he said it. Charlotte glared at him, part of her knowing it was their connection. The other parts didn't care. _Prick!_ Dean flinched at that thought, and then looked her right in the eye. "Christo!" He glowered at her, a dare to react in his sneer. "I said Christo, bitch!"

_Don't play a player? _Charlotte rolled her eyes. How could the man be such an ass when she had already given in? She was going to help him get through the night so she could leave in the morning – but there he was trying to exorcise her for the third time. "Tuus malus de locutio est."

Dean held up both hands to ward himself, momentarily forgetting they were still locked at the wrist. "What the fuck are you saying?" Instinct.

"Exactly!" Charlotte was triumphant. "Maybe you'd actually strike fear in the hearts of demons, Dean Winchester, if your Latin didn't suck." The expression on his face was worth a hundred attacks by a legion of angry succubi – even if it meant she would have to screw him in the back of a car for centuries. "Who taught you noun declension? You've been yelling 'to Christ' at me all night. Next time, use the nominative case." She pulled up a fair rendition of his cocky grin. It was fun beating Dean Winchester at his own game. "Christus. Not Christo."

"She's got you there, Dean." Sam chuckled. He was enjoying the exchange. "Your Latin sucks."

Dean whipped his head towards Sam. "You're the one who told me to use Christo, man. What's the difference? Christo. Christus. It gets the job done."

"It's sloppy!" Charlotte started shivering. The shield was down, battered and torn by his anger. "And it's insulting."

"To the demons?" Dean looked incredulous. Under other circumstances, the expression would have been amusing – hazel eyes round, like you could knock him down simply by blowing on him. "You are from Planet Crack!"

She rolled her eyes. "To the people who actually speak the languages you butcher." Dean Winchester hurt too god damn much to try to be reasonable with him – reds and purples bouncing through them both. And Charlotte could give as good as she got. "Any time you open your mouth, I'd imagine."

"You bitch! I can't believe I fucked you in my car!" Dean Winchester's nostrils flared – the same look he gave her back in Alfie's, right after their first failed attempt at an exorcism.

Charlotte snorted. "And I can't believe I let myself get fucked in that piece of crap!" He acted like screwing him in the back of his crappy old car was a privilege that women stood in line for, like every red-blooded heterosexual female wanted a crack at Dean Winchester.

"Oh, that's it!" Dean started wriggling himself off the bed. "No one insults my baby and gets away with it." She received a spark of him washing the car, lovingly caressing it with a towel. Buffing on the wax. The Dean Winchester in her head caressed that car more gently than most men touched their girlfriends.

"Somebody shoot me." Charlotte meant it. Dean Winchester had a pet name for his car. _Bloody hell._

"You heard her, Sammy!" Dean howled at his little brother. "Untie me and give me a freaking gun!" And at that moment, Charlotte had no doubt that he would shoot her. Given the opportunity, she'd slam her fingers into the oozing wounds on his chest – simply to watch him squirm. Even knowing she'd feel it.

_Help him. _

"Will you two shut up?" Sam's voice roared throughout the room. "No one got fucked." They both looked at him, shocked into silence. "I shot you with tranquilizers." Charlotte closed her mouth – in all her visions, she had only seen that expression when the Twelve walked behind him and the world was lost. _Because of me. _The moment passed quickly; Sam's eyes softened and he sighed. _He's still Awakening because of my stupid plan._ "Although I think if someone is fucked, it's me." But he looked like Sam Winchester again, which was better than Awakening in the middle of a motel room – getting stared at by your mostly naked brother and a strange girl in blue-striped pajamas.

"What's going on?" Sam was looking right at her, frowning. "How do you go from Sane Girl to some chick screaming at my brother like a fishwife?" _Fair question._ Charlotte had lost control over her own emotions. All of it. That never happened before she met the Winchesters. Dean's chuckle was cut short when Sam glared at him.

Charlotte wasn't just screwed; the succubus had fucked her brain screaming sideways. _God, I'm beginning to think like him._ Even Sam Winchester – who wasn't an empath, regardless of what he was becoming – could sense it. Should she mention the voices in her head, telling her to help them both? Dean already thought she was crazier than a fruit bat. Charlotte didn't have the strength to fight the voices anymore. And for the second time in her life, truth seemed like a viable option.

"Your brother is an empath." Telling the truth was easier the more she practiced it. Charlotte didn't even have to steel herself for their reactions, like she had in the back of the car.

"What?" Both Winchesters said it simultaneously. Sam looked amused, but Dean seemed edgy. Charlotte hadn't expected either of them to believer her, but Dean was eyeing her like she had hooked her fingers into more than his jeans – she had found out his secret. A little boy. And a fire. And a baby in his arms

"An empath." She shook her head. Charlotte gritted her teeth – it was a basic lesson. No wonder the voices in her head wanted her to help them, despite the fact that she was leaving in the morning. The Winchesters had no clue about the world they actually walked in, for all that they killed monsters for a living. Demons walked the earth, and the children of angels defended the world against them – endowed with gifts to withstand the Grigori. "He's attuned to other people's emotions, feeling what they feel."

"Right." It was Sam Winchester's turn to be a snarky bastard. "I know what it means." If Charlotte had any doubts about their relationship, the grin on his face would have rescinded them. "I'm just trying to figure out why you'd pick empathy out of any psychic gift you could give my brother." Sarcasm was definitely genetic. "Please don't tell me that it was the first thing that popped into your head after Dean kissed you."

"You're a hypocrite, Sam Winchester." Charlotte shook her head, more tingling above her neck. _God damn gift. _ "You can blow up demons using your brain, but that doesn't mean you hold the monopoly on psychic gifts in your family." Dean's hazel eyes widened when she said that. Charlotte didn't even want to defend him, but the gift compelled necessary truths – even when she'd rather melt into the wall. "You might be powerful, but you're untrained." _Don't go there. _"I'm not." _Crap._

"Dean's got the sensitivity of a stick!" Sam chuckled.

"Empathy doesn't require you to be sympathetic," Charlotte returned. And Sam Winchester had no idea how sensitive his older brother really was, underneath the thick skin and countless defense mechanisms. A little boy. And a fire. And a baby in his arms. "In fact, it's probably easier if you're insensitive. That way you can do what needs to be done, without worrying about how other people feel about it." It was blunt, but there it was.

"OK, I'll bite." Sam shook his shaggy head ruefully, stifling a chuckle. "How did you figure out Dean was an empath?"

"The same way I figured out you were telekinetic," Charlotte snapped. "I watched you blow up a demon." Was every Winchester male an ass? "I've spent the last twenty years being trained by the Circle to control my gift." She saw herself pulling Dean Winchester's shirt over his head, nails raking his back. Her body arching into his, with eyes as fierce and ravenous as the ones looking at her. _And you're doing such a bang-up job with that, Charlotte. _She shook her head. "I can recognize my own gift when I see it being used." _Just not immediately._ They didn't need to know that.

Neither Winchester responded to that, although Sam looked skeptical. Dean looked like a deer caught in headlights for one fleeting second before he shook his head, smart-ass smirk back on his face. She sighed. _In for a penny... _"No one knew your brother was gifted, Sam. The Circle had no clue – that's how he caught me off-guard back at Alfie's." And Dean looked at her with the eyes of a son who lost his mother. "I think our gifts short-circuited each other, causing a feedback loop." Charlotte flushed. That explained why he thought she was the succubus – Granny Girls didn't do it for Dean Winchester.

_Help him._

_I'm trying, damn it!_

"So why not just block yourself?" Sam asked. "Given how highly trained you are." He was torn between being pissed off and the same natural curiosity which kept him asking questions about the Nephilim in the Impala. Charlotte couldn't really blame him; he was riding on the thin edge of exhaustion, worried about his brother and stuck in the middle of the world's worst nightmare.

"I've tried." She wished she could pick herself up; it was difficult carrying on conversations when you were lying on your stomach. "But I can't block him out." Charlotte flushed. "His emotions are strong." Another vision of them in the back of Impala wracked shot through her – despite what Sam Winchester said, she could feel Dean. Taste him. Smell him. Inside. "Especially when sex is involved."

"Especially when sex is involved?" Sam snickered. "Tell me something I don't know!" He looked at Charlotte, his blue eyes widening. "I almost believed you but Dean was right. You are a player." Sam gave an unrepentant shake of his disheveled head. "Empath," he muttered.

It was time to try another tactic – laying there wishing Dean Winchester was pinning her to the mattress was not going to convince either of them she was telling the truth. No matter how beautiful he was. "A succubus uses sympathetic sex magic," Charlotte said. Hopefully they would understand that – it was Demonology 101.

Dean grunted. "We know." They did – the shared look between them was obvious. _Amateur._ Even an insult – unless they believed she was too obtuse to see it. _Stupid Charlotte. _She had to stop assuming they knew nothing about the world they lived in, despite how little they knew about the Circle of Enoch. Their true calling. They had survived without their gifts."So what's your point?"

"My point is that the poison was her primary focus. But with the sliver, you're still vulnerable. Even though she's dead, you're emotionally out of control with an outrageous sex drive. Because that secondary focus is still inside of you." Charlotte's voice caught – she felt Dean's hands on her again, his ring cold against her thigh. She swallowed, flushing as she glanced at him. "You've ripped open every shield I put up, so I can't keep your emotions out. You get agitated, I get agitated. But the connection should go both ways." If Dean Winchester calmed down enough to let her help him. _If he believed me. _"I can influence you just enough for Sam to get the sliver out by reducing the pain."

"Reducing the pain?" It was Sam's question, but Dean looked more interested in the answer.

Charlotte grimaced. "I'll share it." But just the pain. _Help him. _Not the fire. That was Dean Winchester's burden to bear; Charlotte Webb had her own night that she carried, close to her heart. A little girl. And a fire. And the arms that made her watch. She lived with it. So could he.

"And then I can perform the purification ritual." Sam looked at her thoughtfully, nodding again. He smiled at her like she was a hero.

Charlotte blushed. "That's the plan." Or an amendment to the plan, at any rate. _And_ _I hope it works. I don't want Dean Winchester in my head while I'm trying to sleep on a bus. _

"That assumes there's actually a connection between us," Dean countered. "How do I know this isn't part of the Circle's plan to get Sammy – knock me out of commission with a spell? Send a cute chick after me so I won't suspect her." Charlotte's eyes widened – that's how the Winchesters survived. A good dose of paranoia and an uncanny cleverness you didn't expect.

_Cute?_

"You want me to prove it to you?" Charlotte shook her head. She felt him on top of her, biting her neck, as she pulled his t-shirt out of his jeans. If that wasn't proof of a connection – two strangers in the back of a car, screaming towards annihilation – she didn't know how else to prove it to him.

_There's the secret._

A little boy. And a fire. And the baby in his arms.

_It's the only way._

_No, it's not._ Charlotte knew exactly what would happen the moment she opened that door. _I'm doing this my way._ Dean Winchester could relive that night without her. She frowned. "Granny sweaters don't turn you on." When in doubt, appeal to the man's overactive libido.

"What the hell does that have to do with anything?" Sam asked.

"I'm not your brother's type," Charlotte retorted. _Send a cute chick so I won't suspect her._ "That's why he thought I was the succubus the first time he tried to kiss me." It was probably inhumanly possible to blush harder.

"Dean doesn't have types," Sam returned. "He's an equal opportunity womanizer." He shrugged his shoulders. "Unless you count the Catholic school girl fetish."

Charlotte chose to ignore that, but she couldn't keep herself from looking at Dean. He said nothing – just continued looking at her like she was freak. _Help him. _That damn voice was beginning to piss her off. _There's the secret. _And there was a way to use it without hurting either of them.

"I know your secret, Dean Winchester." It was the best she could come up with on short notice, getting stared at by a man she still wanted to straddle. _Focus, Charlotte. _

"Yeah?" Dean snorted. "I'm all ears, sweetheart." He leaned back against the headboard of the bed, a smile on his face.

"A little boy," Charlotte returned. She could see him, sitting with a little baby in his arms. _Sam._ Watching the fire. Feeling his mother burn. Feeling his mother die. "And a fire." Dean's eyes clouded over, and something glimmered across his face that broke the smile. Only for a second. "And the baby in his arms."

"Pretty clever," Dean replied. He looked faintly impressed, and the beam dropped from his eyes. "She's really got powerful mojo, Sammy. If I couldn't see her working it, I'd believe her."

_That's because I'm connected to you, idiot!_

"But anyone doing research on our family would know that." Sam Winchester just looked bored. "There was a picture in the newspaper about the fire."

Dean nodded. "I made the third page." His smile was a mask; he was burning inside – and he knew Charlotte was telling the truth. The damn man could sense everything else. "So you want me to believe you?"

"Don't make me do it, Dean!" Charlotte knew it was inevitable – should have known the vision would force her to this point. She was Called and she was Chosen. But she was a coward. It had nothing to do with the succubus. The succubus was secondary. God worked in mysterious ways – even through a broken coward. She didn't want to touch him, to walk with him through the fire. "Please." Tears stood in her eyes. "You know I'm not lying."

"No dice, Emo-Girl." Dean visibly winced at her voice. _God, please. Don't make me help him. _But there was no mercy in the curl of his lip. "Prove it."

Dean Winchester was one stubborn son of a bitch. Charlotte stared at him, severe, before turning her eyes away. _I don't want to. _It was going to hurt him a lot more than it would hurt her. "Just remember that you asked for this." She was going to make certain of that. Dean Winchester was just doing this to hurt her, take something back. "Sam?"

"Yeah?" His voice was soft, and confusion eddied around Sam Winchester. He wanted to believe the girl, but he wanted to believe his older brother.

"Can you untie my feet, or help me stand?" It was the only way. Shock open the memory, feed it back to him – even though she wanted to rip that memory out of her head, never sharing it. _The memory, it isn't mine. And I shouldn't have to carry it. _She sighed. _You're preaching to the choir, River._

"What if you try to hump Dean?" Sam asked. The unspoken part of that sentence was that he had probably spent the entire night trying to keep her from humping Dean when not performing first aid and purification rituals. A part of Sam Winchester trusted her; she wasn't even sure why. "We're out of tranquilizer darts."

Charlotte winced. "I think I can resist your brother's charms for a whole thirty seconds." Except she wanted Dean to throw her against the wall. Hard. Charlotte's breath came out in a hiss. She rolled onto her back, yelping when her back made contact with the mattress. Pain flashed through her, white against her eyes. It helped. Charlotte realized she was staring at the hanging light above her bed. "Ow." _Stupid Charlotte. _Dean Winchester's breathing sped up, a common reaction to pain. He'd felt it. _Bastard!_

The pressure against her ankles disappeared, replaced by a tingling sensation. Sam was rubbing her skin where the rope had cut into it. Dean's chest was hot with the infection – the sooner she proved herself to him, the sooner Sam could complete the purification ritual. And that should set everything to rights. _Hopefully. _The bastard deserved everything he was going to get. She closed her eyes. It would hurt. _I'm sorry._

It was easier to be insensitive – to do what needed to be done without worrying how other people feel about it. It was more than a mantra. It was Charlotte's prayer – that she wouldn't feel what she was about to unleash on Dean Winchester.

Sam helped her stand, slowly moving her so that the pressure of her feet on the ground wasn't a shock, and balanced her until she could stand on her own. The numbness was almost unbearable – even Dean's legs were twitching. Charlotte shuffled next to Dean. "Are you ready?" No ceremony or polite dance of manners – just a brusque dare. _Maybe he'll back down. _Charlotte held her chin up when she looked at him. At least she wasn't wearing the pajamas with the pink flowers on them.

"Hit me with your best shot." Dean returned the challenge in her eyes with one of his own.

_Help him._

Sam was watching both of them with a growing sense of unease. He was just like her – someone who planned out every contingency, backed-up and double-checked by hours of careful research. Sam Winchester had a plan – and whatever was playing out in front of him was not a part of it. Charlotte could work with that, too. She turned herself around so that Dean would have the best view.

She took a deep breath. _Stop feeling sorry for yourself_. It was going to hurt Dean Winchester more than her preliminary embarrassment at him realizing what he had almost banged in the back of his crap car. The burning was killing him, hurting her – and was no use to Sam. Especially as he continued to Awaken; he'd need someone to protect him unconditionally, like an older brother who would die for him. And this was the only way to convince Dean to let her help. There was the hope that if she was telling the truth about this, maybe the Winchesters would believe she was telling the truth about everything else. _Because they still don't believe in the Nephilim. _"Lift my shirt, Sam."

"What?" Sam Winchester had not expected that. "But –"

"It's necessary," Charlotte replied. "Dean will know why." Sam looked away as he lifted the shirt. She heard Dean's sharp intake of breath as he saw them. The scars on her abdomen were the worst ones – criss-crossed and angry, like a crazy woman's quilt. There were others on her left arm and both legs, but Dean was in no position to notice them when he was pulling off her underwear. Her memory flared – how the fire felt like a hot caress against her skin, a demon's kiss.

Charlotte pressed that kiss into Dean Winchester. The tremor jerked open the memory he kept burning inside, beneath the sarcasm and the steady string of women he screwed using someone else's last name. The blood and the fire. The baby in his arms. A mother beloved, and dying in his mind. One long scream, one long pair of eyes between them – watching the fire burn. And the fire that kissed her entire body, blood dripping on to the baby he held in his arms. Dean Winchester had felt his mother die. _The mirror collapses, but the image cannot._

And Charlotte fed that night back to him. Scream for scream. Ache for ache. Scar for scar. A thousand permutations of that eternal memory, shattered like a glass ball. Pushed back everything he spilled into her, with his grimace and her tears.

_Help him._

Another flicker at the base of her skull. Charlotte inclined her head. One little push from her could end Dean Winchester's misery – she could see it. Her dreams provided proof and her dreams provided instruction. One small push, a simple thing, and his pain could overrun her. Blessed and healing. Taking away a scar with so many of his. Sam Winchester was glowing – blue sigils appearing along his cheek bones – and his smile was the crack before the world ended.

"Armaros," Sam Winchester whispered, in his college boy's voice – earnest and compassionate, but touched by something older than time. Brighter than the stars. "My Armaros." It was simply a matter of falling into his destiny, hand-in-hand with the smile that unleashed Armageddon.

The small piece of herself that was still Charlotte Webb screamed, holding onto the memory of a little boy. And a fire. And the baby in his arms.

_Help them, Charlotte. Help them both. _Two voices thrumming through her, holding Armaros at bay – and one of them the woman who screamed in a little boy's memory. The other screamed in her own. Both putting too much faith in a scarred little girl whose only goal was to get out alive. In someone who was leaving as soon as she could get to the bus station.

"That's enough." Charlotte pulled back the demon's kiss, pulling herself away from the fires inside of Dean Winchester. The memory wasn't hers, and she shouldn't have to carry it. "Please, God, let that be enough."

Dean nodded, sick and slick with sweat – Charlotte had the accompanying nausea, felt the sheen on her own skin. Was Dean's lower back burning like hers? _The tattoo? _ Sam dropped the pajama top, face completely normal. Composed. One tendril showed he was sincere, with no memory of what the thing inside of him had said. Armaros. That thing had called out to Armaros. _Armaros inflamed._ She had to get away from the Winchesters. It was dangerous. Right now. Not tomorrow. Who had tied up her hands?

Dean swallowed, and his anger slammed into her, the fury at his core that kept him going, gave him the strength to get up every morning. It was vengeance. "What do you want?" Dean Winchester asked, his voice hoarse.

Charlotte took a breath. _Focus._ She would leave in the morning – tonight she owed Dean Winchester, owed him for the temptation of pushing and spilling the pain through her. "For Sam to untie my hands. I need to touch you." And she did – God help her, Charlotte wanted nothing more at that moment than to crawl in next to him on the bed. Curl up and sleep. Sam was soiled. So was she. But Dean Winchester was untainted. Charlotte swallowed. "For my gift to work."

Dean grinned – a shadow of his face in the bar. "I'm a Winchester, sweetheart." She flushed at that, because his eyes looked the same as she remembered them. Hungry and ravenous.

"I've got two legs," she replied shakily.

"Last time I checked." Dean's voice was light. "A pulse, too."

Sam's eyes flashed. "You two are un-fucking-believable!" He snorted, following the disdain with a gagging sound. "The minute there's humping, I swear to God I'm leaving and not coming back."

His older brother's voice was tired. "Just untie her, Sammy."

Grimacing, Sam complied – gaping at her like she had grown two heads. Charlotte rubbed her own wrists this time; Sam could sense she had shared something with Dean. She was a stranger – nothing more than a girl Dean picked up in a bar. Dean shouldn't be sharing secrets with her. Charlotte blinked, feeling the tears in her eyes suddenly. They all had scars.

It was why she had come up with the plan in the first place.

Because of her incredibly stupid plan, Sam Winchester was still awakening – and his brother was dying; the poison would kill him without sexual energy to feed it. She took a deep breath. _I can leave in the morning._ The Winchesters had earned this much from her. Hopefully they would consider the debt repaid; Dean's life and the knowledge of Sam's destiny in exchange for her disappearance. Because there was no way in hell Charlotte Webb was sticking around and letting Armaros come out to play with Shemhezai.

Charlotte padded over to the other side of Dean's bed, and hopped up onto it next to him. He looked at her; gave a small smile – nothing like the ones he had given her before. Genuine. Maybe even a little exposed. Charlotte knew he was reliving that night, every detail. Because she had forced it on him. A part of her had enjoyed it, sticking the pin into the butterfly as its wings beat against the glass. _Armaros inflamed._ She was almost tempted to apologize, but the words would be hollow.

Charlotte braced Dean's neck with her right hand, sliding it between his body and the headboard. She placed her left hand on his chest, underneath the wound where the tip of the succubus claw was lodged. "Calling the mantra with a blade in the skin," she whispered. The recognition on Dean's face when he heard the lyrics surprised her. _For the demons within. _Her eyes found Sam Winchester's. "Let's do this."

"OK." Sam nodded, picking up the scalpel.

Charlotte braced herself, and bit back the scream of connection as cold metal sliced into Dean. She closed her eyes, falling like a stone inside of him. She shared the pain – the cut of the scalpel was a simple thing for a scarred little girl. But she fell further. Through the lid of a box, locked tight with nails of failure and banded by disappointment. And inside that box, there was a little boy. And a fire. And the baby in his arms.

_Help him._

Charlotte was Called and Charlotte was Chosen. Little boys like this were the reason she was made. And though she'd leave him in the morning – leave Dean Winchester to defend his brother, alone but untainted by the demons within – tonight she would repay her debt. A memory for a memory. Pain for pain.

The little boy couldn't cry. But Charlotte could. For him. Just once. Putting her arms around that little boy, bending down to hold him as the fire burned inside, Charlotte cried. So the little boy would know that he wasn't alone in his grief, that the world was the one with demons. But that there was also hope.

In the morning she would leave, but tonight there was something else.

_Penance._


	5. Some Kind of Monster

_**Strange Angels**_

This is set sometime after the end of Season 1. While it doesn't break canon to my knowledge, it is definitely AU. The boys find themselves dealing with the aftermath of Dean being poisoned by a succubus – along with Charlotte Webb, the girl they rescued from the Circle of Enoch. Charlotte has a couple more surprises stashed up the sleeve of her granny sweater for Dean Winchester.

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Charlotte Webb

Disclaimer: The Winchester boys aren't mine. The Colt isn't mine. Wish the car was mine. But I can only blame myself for the Circle of Enoch.

Rating: T (Strong language. Dean's still shirtless. What's not to love?)

Summary: The dude who said "Better the devil you know than the devil you don't" was lying.

Feedback: Absolutely!

Miscellaneous: This chapter has been significantly revised from the original posting. Special thanks to JMM0001 for much deserved thwackage, particularly when my muse was attempting to be a smartass for all the wrong reasons – and she beta'd this chapter _before_ watching her Supernatural DVDs, making me a humbled and greatly appreciative padawan. Once again, the agile brain of Raven9 brought us the best joke in the entire chapter, complete with the howitzer reference. As always, the good parts are because of them. The bad parts are all me.

**Chapter Four: Some Kind of Monster**

The odds of Dean waking up in room with a woman wearing blue-striped pajamas were roughly equivalent to winning Powerball.

On most nights, Dean slipped away while the girl was sleeping – picking up his things and slinking back to the Impala to get a couple hours of shut-eye before hitting the road. And those girls greeted the morning the same way they came into the world. Even Cassie – the rare exception to that rule – hadn't worn pajamas to bed. Dean grinned, remembering Cassie in one of his old Metallica t-shirts, throat-catching beautiful when she was drowsy – before the sharp edges of the loss crashed into him.

_Where the hell did that come from?_

Another frigging memory courtesy of that goddamn red-head. Who knew what she had stumbled across when she was walking through his brain? Charlotte Webb had slipped through a crack, and now Dean was having flashbacks about Cassie Robinson. Life was all about doing the job. Finding the demon. Saving people. Protecting Sammy. Until some weird ass girl and her touchy feely psychic power started pushing buttons inside him, trying to find the right combination to unlock Dean Winchester.

Not that he remembered much of what happened when she used her mojo on him, slipping in and out of feverish nightmares as easily as he gained and lost consciousness. The dreams were the ones he remembered, burning inside, but with gossamer edges. And Sam's voice was always in the background. Cajoling Dean to drink something, while slipping a pill between his lips. Asking direct questions, giving Dean orders when he needed to move, or sit or lie down. Speaking some gibberish.

When Dean opened his eyes, feeling the snap of himself back into his body, he felt a little guilty when the first thing he looked at was her. It was hard not to see her. Charlotte Webb was right there – curled up around a pillow on top of the covers of her own bed. Wearing her blue-striped pajamas. Dean slowly moved himself into a sitting position.

Dean blinked, taking in the room. It stunk. It stunk worse than the time they had tracked down that sewer demon back in Ana Lucia, and that had required a trek through a waste management plant. There were bloody, soiled towels on the floor near the door to the room; Sammy probably planned on getting rid of them the old-fashioned way to cover their tracks. The first aid supplies had been cleaned, and put back into their case on the nightstand next to him – near Dad's journal and some of the research books that Sam was using to deal with the poison. Along with an old book that looked exactly like a witch's grimoire out of a movie.

And then he saw Sammy.

His little brother was stretched out over an armchair, his tall frame dwarfing just about everything in the room. Especially a dinky little armchair. Even from five feet away, Dean could see the dark smudges around Sam's eyes. He looked exhausted – like every breath was marked with the fear that things were never going to be the same again. And they weren't. Dean knew that as clearly as he knew anything. Sam was clutching a thick manila folder to his chest, filled with papers, and there was a notepad next to him on the table with a bunch of jotted down notes. Dean grinned, shaking his head wryly. _Leave it to Sammy_. That girl had given him a mystery, and Sam Winchester was tracking it down.

As mysteries go, it was pretty shoddy. Some half-baked story about ancient prophecies – filled with fallen angels, chosen warriors of God and superpowers. Gifts, Charlotte Webb had called them. She'd dumped this cockamamie story into their laps about people looking for Sam, how they were both descended from angels – complete with glowy blue swords and a shitload of reference books for Sammy to drool over while Dean recovered. Sure, Sam was special. Dean had always known that. But a savior?

The idea of a chubby twelve-year-old growing up to save the world was almost as much of a joke as the second little bombshell Charlotte Webb had dropped in as many days. Not only was Dean a Chosen Warrior of God – and the way the red-head said it, you knew her brain registered it with capital letters – but he was something more. He was a freaking empath. A goddamn walking chick flick. Even Sammy thought that was funny. _My brother has the sensitivity of a stick. _Which hurt a little, though he'd never tell Sam that. Sometimes, Sammy never even tried to understand what made Dean tick; College Boy thought he learned all the answers growing up.

Dean shivered. Someone had turned up the air conditioner too goddamn high. But his chest was still warm – so was the back of his neck. He realized that both spots were where Charlotte Webb had placed her hands when she did whatever she did, looked into the deepest parts of himself. That red-haired witch had figured out his secret. No one – not even Sammy – knew what burned inside of him every single night. Until now. And that made him vulnerable. What happened when that girl went back to the Circle of Enoch and told them that Dean Winchester felt his mother die?

She'd dropped right inside and found the little boy, like an arrow finding its target.

Dean tried to ignore the small voice inside of him. The one that told him that it was his own damn fault Charlotte Webb was in his head in the first place. And she'd actually put her arms around him, there in the little prison of his mind – holding him the way his mother used to, singing to a little boy who had lost everything in a fire. Some song about not being alone that was sad but still made him feel good. At the time. Now it pissed him off that a stranger knew how small Dean Winchester actually was inside. He was still four years old where it mattered most.

What if she told Sammy?

_Fuck._

Dean let out a sharp sound, somewhere between a sigh and a chuckle. _We are so fucked._ Sam stirred in his chair, the folder against his chest slipping slightly – a couple of papers dropped slowly to the floor. There was a soft little sigh, and Charlotte Webb was blinking beside him – half-raised off her stomach, one hand padding out next to her on the nightstand between their beds. Looking for her glasses. She couldn't find them, and sat up. She realized that Dean was awake, staring at her.

"Hey." Dean said it lightly. To her credit, she didn't jump at the sound of his voice – although her gray eyes widened slightly. Dean felt bad about being angry with her once his eyes adjusted to what he was seeing. The red-head's face was pinched with exhaustion. Somewhere between meeting him at Alfie's and waking up next to a Winchester, Charlotte Webb had gotten a black eye. And a bruise on her forehead. _She'll think twice before she head butts Dean Winchester again._ She looked like she needed a bath. Smaller cuts and bruises covered her neck, the parts of her wrists and hands that he could see – and her eyes were bloodshot. "You look like hell, Charlie."

"Charlie?" she asked. Dean expected a sharp retort – not the quizzical expression that met his eyes. She looked like she didn't know whether to take him seriously, or smack him for an insult she couldn't comprehend. "That sounds suspiciously like a nickname." The red-head never raised her voice above a whisper.

Dean shrugged. "It's better than Granny Girl." The bruise around her eye looked bad. _Goddamn mojo_. He actually wanted to find some ice and put it on her face, but this was the crazy psycho chick who clotheslined him in a bar. The girl who told them about Sammy's great hoo-haw destiny in a car. He should be kicking her out the door, watching it swing into her ass on the way out. _What the hell? _He grinned. "Although, with those pajamas, I'm being nice."

She returned the grin wryly, a small twist of the mouth. "Thanks," she said. Charlie kept her voice low, doing some weird head bobble towards Sam.

"Sam's so far gone, you don't have to worry about waking him up." But Dean pitched his voice low.

Charlie looked unconvinced. "Are you sure?" she asked, whispering.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Sweetheart. A rocket launcher won't wake him up when he's out like that." Charlie didn't say anything to that, just looked at him. "So how long have I been out?" Dean asked. He felt like hell – sore all over, like a giant bruise. "A couple days? A week? Because you look like crap on toast."

She gave him a funny look. "About ten hours. We pulled out the sliver, and Sam did the purification ritual." Charlie was still trying to whisper. "You finally fell asleep around midnight." She smiled again. "It only seemed like the longest night of my life."

"My brain that bad, huh?"

"You have no idea," Charlie replied, her face flushed.

"Got some idea," Dean chuckled, but he sure as hell wasn't going to ask her what Charlie remembered. He started getting out of bed.

"What the hell are you doing?" Charlie snapped.

"We need food." He was hungry. Dean wasn't sending Charlie out for food – she looked like she'd been hit by a Mack truck. And she'd probably try to run away or something. Not that it was a bad idea, all things considered, but Sam probably wanted to say goodbye. "So I'm going to McDonalds," Dean explained. He wobbled on his feet, then sat back down immediately on the edge of the bed.

"Stay here," Charlie said, getting up off her bed. Her top actually flipped up as she landed on the floor. Dean did a double take – Charlotte Webb had a tattoo above her hips, right on the bottom of her spinal cord – the skin around it red and angry. With little white dots. Like she'd been burned, and the white spots were tiny blisters outlining the edges of the tattoo. And it was a Devil's Trap. He couldn't even bring himself to be surprised; his brain hurt, and he was hungry as hell.

She padded over to where someone – probably Sam – had thrown her yellow duffel bag against the wall. Charlie was still limping, favoring her left leg. She opened the duffel bag slowly, pulled out something in each hand and literally tip-toed back to the bed. "It's the best I can do," she whispered. Before Dean knew it, he was staring at two unopened bags of peppered beef jerky and a snack-sized package of Ding Dongs. _Score! _"Promise you'll let Sam sleep?"

Dean nodded. Charlie handed him the beef jerky first before shrugging her shoulders and reluctantly turning over the Ding Dongs. "Here you go," Charlie said. She sounded tired – just as tired as his snoring little brother looked in his chair.

_Shit_. Charlotte Webb looked fragile. Dean rolled his eyes. "You hungry?" he asked. She nodded, punctuated with a smaller growl from her own stomach. _I'm going to regret this. _"Well, don't expect me to feed you when you're in the other bed, Charlie."

"Oh, the Ding Dongs are my breakfast." And there was no arguing with that tone. Charlie snatched the Ding Dongs from his hand before he could even respond, sitting down across from him on her bed. _Fuck me_. Charlotte Webb had just played him for a Hostess snack cake.

With a shrug, Dean opened the first package of beef jerky while she opened up the Ding Dongs. She pulled one out and leaned forward, handed it to him – with a smile, like she was always planning on doing it. Dean took it, feeling like a jerk. _Her mojo sucks._ Charlie reached underneath her pillow and pulled out a book. She settled on her side, book held in the crook of her arm, and started reading. Nibbling occasionally on her Ding Dong – first eating the outside edge and then working her way in.

_A girl after my little brother's heart._ And she was – Dean remembered the look on Sam's face, reflecting off the Impala's front window, when they found out Charlie could speak languages Sammy always dreamed of learning. And that whole geek girl explanation about their gifts looping onto each other, and the little lecture on sympathetic magic. Whatever the hell this Circle of Enoch was – and whatever it really planned on doing with Sam – Dean was impressed that they knew exactly the right girl to send to spark his little brother's interest. Maybe someone had a gift about looking into someone's heart and finding the right person for him. _Like Cassie. In the right place at the right time._

Except Charlotte Webb was a lunatic. And Cassie left him.

Everything about Charlie was deliberate – she told you just enough to be believable without giving too much away. And that mojo of hers gave off a vibe that made you want to protect her, like she was just as fragile as she looked. Dean twisted his mouth. Of course, anyone thinking that had never been on the receiving end of her clothesline. Dean knew better – the girl could knock down a man, even coming out of a half-awkward spin like a bullet train. And she was no innocent school girl, either. Succubus poison or not, the girl kissed like she knew what she was doing. Like she could look right into someone's memory and pick out the best way to keep a man interested.

Dean chewed on his jerky thoughtfully, looked down at her. Charlie seemed oblivious to the attention, her eyes flicking across the page as she read. "Hey, Charlie."

"Yes?" She put a finger in her book to mark her place, sitting up to look at him.

"You really think I'm a Chosen Warrior of God?" Of all the questions he could have asked, Dean didn't expect that one to come out of his mouth. _Freaking moron!_ It must have been the way the light was reflecting in her eyes, like she was really listening to him for the first time since they met. Really seeing Dean Winchester. Guess that's what happened when a girl could drop inside you straight to your worst nightmare.

"Welcome to junior high," another voice muttered, cutting off Charlie's response. _Fuck!_ Sam was sitting up, the folder still clutched to his chest, and his voice sounded as tired as Charlie's. "_Don't__expect me to feed you when you're in the other bed!" _ His snort devolved into an outright laugh, and Sammy slammed the folder shut – setting it next to him on the table. "You guys up for a real breakfast, or are you going to stare at each other like two moony retards?"

"You've gotten an hour of sleep," Charlie said. She frowned at Sam, and Dean turned on the bed to look at his little brother. "There's enough beef jerky for both of you."

"I've had more sleep than you've gotten," Sam returned. The expression on his face was concerned – the same kind of concern Dean had seen whenever he woke up in a hospital, or when Dad left on his own lonely mission to track down the demon. Again. Charlotte Webb worked her mojo so well, Sammy looked at her like family. Just the way her mojo made Dean see a fragile red-head who shared Ding Dongs with you – instead of the psycho emo girl feeding them both a line. "Don't you want to go out for pancakes or something?" Sam asked.

"Good god, Sammy!" Dean threw the unopened pouch of beef jerky at his little brother. Sam didn't even look – just reached out his hand and caught it. "Do you want the cops to think you're beating up your girlfriend?" Two pairs of eyes looked at him. "I mean, look at her. She can't go outside like that!" Dean caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror across from the bed. "And neither should I."

"Doesn't matter how I look," Charlie returned. "I'm on the next bus to Washington, D.C." She glanced in the mirror and stared. "As soon as I get a shower." She bit her lip. "And find my sunglasses and a head scarf."

"You're not leaving." Sam said it matter-of-factly. His little brother didn't look too happy about the idea. Sammy fell for her damsel in distress routine back at the bar; it's why she ended up in the Impala in the first place. "I have a lot of questions to ask," his little brother added. Dean smiled – sounded like Sam came to his senses after all. "And there's some research I need your help with."

"I'll answer your questions if I can." Charlie gave a low laugh. "But the research? Not my job, Sam Winchester." She looked happy about that, almost relieved in the bow of her shoulders. "It won't mean anything to you if you don't figure it out for yourself."

"That's a really cheap excuse!" Sam looked incredulous. He began tapping the pencil on his notepad against the table for emphasis. "We talked about this."

Charlie rolled her eyes. "Which is why you shouldn't be surprised. I've been saying this all night." Her voice took on a patient tone. "I stayed last night to help Dean, but I was always planning on leaving this morning."

"Because you were Called." Sam said it deprecatingly, with a shake to his head. Dean could hear the capital letter – his brother was beginning to fit right in with these Circle of Enoch people. The only thing scarier than the glances shooting between them was the thought that this was quickly leading to little Geek Emo babies.

Charlie shrugged her shoulders – she did it almost as eloquently as Sammy had when he was in high school, the pissed off teenager who wanted nothing but to run from his father's way of life. She actually had that same look in her eyes, when she didn't think you were watching; like she was running away from something.

"Weren't you Called to help me?" Sam asked it like he already knew the answer was 'Yes.'

"No." A shadow flickered across her face. "I've helped you as much as I can, Sam. I wish I could help you more, but I can't." Charlie smiled softly but Sam never saw it; he was staring at the wall, the little boy Dean had sworn to protect staring out of his eyes. Which was just as well, because Sammy wouldn't like the look on Charlotte Webb's face. She was leaving.

"Stop pushing her, Sammy," Dean interjected. She spared him a glance – theirs was an uneasy truce. Charlotte Webb wanted to be gone as much as Dean wanted to see her go. She was trouble. He knew it the moment she knocked him to the ground, and she'd probably admit that. Part of Dean didn't trust the little combat boot wearing psycho any farther than he could throw her. Charlie talked a good game, but she hadn't told either of them why she was in the bar with that asshole. Or what she got out of the deal. Charlotte Webb had ulterior motive written all over her face.

Sammy tried another tactic. "What about money? Aren't you going to need some?" Sam coughed. "And we still haven't tried the last of the salves." His little brother frowned. "What could it hurt to stick around for just a couple more days? You can't dress your wounds without help."

"I'm staying with my friend Maggie for awhile. She's an EMT," the red-head replied. "I think she can dress a wound."

"See, Sammy? Problem solved. Charlie's got everything under control." _Especially with her mojo._ There was nothing a normal person could do to protect against it. Dean wasn't sure why Sam was being so stubborn, coming up with reasons to keep her here; it was for the best that she was leaving. Whatever idea he had gotten into his head about her, she was bad news. "Once we're done with breakfast, and we both get showers, I'll drop you off at the bus station," Dean added.

"Or I could take a cab," Charlie said. "You can barely walk."

"Your choice, Charlie." Dean could afford to feel magnanimous. Dean was looking forward to hitting a bar, slamming tequila and getting laid. Didn't even have to be in that order. Chicks dug scars – they'd be all over him. The look on Sam's face kicked in the guilt factor. _What the hell. _"But if you need money, it's not a problem."

"Money's not an issue. Not for awhile anyway," she said. Charlie was a lot more subdued than Dean remembered from the bar. "And when it is, I can get a job."

The red-head smiled at Sam, but he was watching the wall again. Her stare was dead serious – like she was trying to figure out the hidden mysteries of Geek Boy. The only good thing about Charlie staying would be the fact that Sam might actually get some – she was cute enough once you got past the long-sleeved sweaters and the skirts that fell past her knees. As long as you didn't mind banging a chick who was crazier than a fruit bat.

"So you're one of those girls who wants to work for an honest living?" Dean chuckled.

"I thought I might try something new," Charlie retorted, giving him a hard stare. Was this the same girl who sang about people leaving you halfway through the woods to the little boy in his head. "Besides, my heart couldn't take another week with the Winchesters," she added.

"We are heartbreakers," Dean agreed. "Remember the night you couldn't get enough of me?"

"As I recall, you're the one who jumped a chick in a granny sweater," Charlie said, her gray eyes hard.

Dean snorted. "I didn't hear you complaining."

Sam made a strangled noise in the back of his throat, cutting off Charlie's comeback. "Outside," Sammy said. His voice was rigid, and he sounded like Dad – had the Winchester look in his eye. "Now, Dean." He set his bag of beef jerky on top of the manila folder, stretching his tall frame into a stand. And he was glaring at Dean. _Crap._

"Right." Dean dropped his own bag of beef jerky next to Charlie. She looked startled, staring at Sammy's face like a little kid who had just seen the boogie man – exactly like the expression on little Sari's face when she was talking about the thing in her closet.

Dean shuffled over to his own duffel bag, pulling out a pair of jeans and a shirt. He was so damn cold. "Don't look now," Dean said with a chuckle, glancing at Charlie over his shoulder. "We both know you'd rather be pulling my clothes off." She deliberately turned her head towards the wall as soon as their eyes met.

Sam waited by the door, opening it up and ushering him outside. Charlie was already moving off the bed when the door shut behind his little brother. Sam braced himself on the balcony railing. A mother walked past both of them on the way down the stairs, eyeing him up and down, before grabbing the little girl next to her by the hand and pulling her forcefully away from both of them.

"Check that," Dean grimaced. "If I'm scaring unsuspecting mothers, I think I'll go straight to tequila. We better still have some in the room, Sam." He sighed. "What's up, little brother?"

"We need to talk," Sam said. His eyes were still flashing, and his mouth was twisted into the same angry blemish from when he was a teenager. "Away from Charlotte."

"I get that," Dean said. He heard water running from inside their room. "But she's in the freaking shower. Couldn't we have stayed inside? Lot more private than having a heart-to-heart talk outside a motel room."

Sam shook his head. "I don't want her to feel this. It'll only upset her."

It was Dean's turn to shake his head. He was tired, still hungry and his head felt like someone was pounding him with a jackhammer – but the sun on his skin felt good, and he was finally getting warm. "The last thing we need to worry about is Charlotte Webb. She can take care of herself." He frowned. "Unless it's to check between our shoulder blades for the hatchet she buried."

"That's not fair." Sam leaned down on the top of the rail, elbows resting on the metal. "She helped you Dean."

Dean snorted. "Because she wanted to get secrets to take back to those Circle assholes."

Sam's head turned towards him, eyes wide. "Because she was Called."

"As if that means anything to me, dude." But Dean moved to stand next to his brother, elbows in the same position. He settled his eyes on the family in the parking lot, loading their car. The little girl laughed suddenly, and waved at him. He raised his hand in reply. "And stop talking with those frigging capital letters. It's freaking me out."

"The visions. Beata are called to their duty by visions, Dean." Sam sounded serious. "And dreams." Dean could hear the rest. _Just like I've been getting. _It was a big leap of faith, even for Sammy. Taking the word of a mojo-wielding red-head as an answer to the visions that'd been tagging them for months.

"Beata." Dean tried on the word for size. And then he wanted to kick himself, because the word could only be said with the goddamn capital letter. "So that's what you're supposed to be."

"That's what we're both supposed to be, Dean. I think we got the powers from Mom and that's why the demon killed her." Sam was suddenly excited about hunting again; he'd been despondent for months while they healed, got back onto their feet. They'd both felt restless, wandering the country following Sam's occasional vision. _Guess that should be Calling._ Trying to find people to help. With no real purpose. That had suited Dean just fine – the last time they'd had a purpose, they had almost died. "Maybe Jess had powers, too," his little brother added.

"The demon killed Jess just to mess you up, Sam. It likes playing with Winchesters." And Dean knew that for truth, remembered the look on his father's face when the demon stared at him. Burning. The demon was enjoying itself, enjoying the blood that was pouring from wounds on his chest. Dean felt dizzy. He steadied himself on the rail. "But what does this have to do with Charlie?" Dean asked.

"I think the demon wants to kill her, too. That the Circle of Enoch sends it to do its dirty work, like getting Mom out of the way when we were kids." Sam was just getting started.

"Wait a minute there, College Boy," Dean interjected, cutting Sam off at the pass. "Did she actually _tell_ you this?"

Sam looked so much like a little boy, Dean felt his throat catch. "Well, no," Sam admitted. "It just made sense. The Circle of Enoch wants me. Mom died in a fire caused by a demon." For whatever reason, his little brother wanted to save that freaking psycho. "And she betrayed them to help you. Charlotte tried to save your life." Sam paused, and added, "Plus, she's got scars, Dean. She survived a fire. Just like us. Doesn't that seem a little suspicious to you?"

"Charlie seems suspicious to me." Dean made a small grimace, scratching underneath his left ear. "She was on a first-name basis with that jerk. You remember the guy who was _controlling_ the succubitch?"

"The one we both heard threaten to _kill_ her," Sam retorted, but his eyes were calm. "But that does make my hypothesis about the Circle controlling demons more plausible," Sam added. _Smartass!_

"Has she told you why she was with him?" Dean shrugged. It was a fair question.

"I never even thought to ask her," his little brother replied. Sammy looked chagrined. "Is this where you tell me to start thinking with my upstairs brain?"

Dean chuckled. "I don't know. Are you thinking with your downstairs brain?"

"Not as much as you are, man." Sam returned the chuckle with a guffaw of his own. His little brother's expression turned serious. "Why didn't you tell me what was happening, Dean. With the succubus. I would have tried to help."

"Right." Dean raised an eyebrow, returning Sam's speculative stare. "You ever been poisoned by a succubus, Sammy?" He didn't wait for his little brother's response. "It sucks rocks."

"Oh, yeah." Sam was a Winchester. No doubt about it. "You really looked like it sucked."

Dean closed his eyes, seeing her underneath him again at the bar. The way her voice sounded – swollen with the same desire that had been coursing through him – and how she smelled like strawberries or the sky after a storm. How Charlie shivered when he nipped at her neck. He grinned suddenly. "OK, parts of it _definitely_ didn't suck. And I'll even give you that she stuck around to help me. But it's still a pretty big leap to say she's one of the good guys."

Sam shrugged his shoulders. "I guess." He returned Dean's grin. "Which makes what I'm about to ask you seem like a monumental task."

_Fuck me._ The look on his little brother's face meant that Sammy wanted one thing. For the girl to join the band. Didn't Sam realize that whenever a girl joined the band, things went to hell? Charlie would be a crack addition to the team. She could get the monsters to sit down for therapy sessions before they were killed, and then teach them Latin from the backseat. _Jesus. _"Don't even open your mouth, little brother."

"Dean, it's only for a couple of days. I do need the help on the research – some of those notes are in Enochian. I can't translate them." Sam looked like someone had handed him a puppy for Christmas. "True Enochian, Dean."

"Dad said Enochian was a fake language." When in doubt, bring in the voice of experience. Since Dad wasn't here, that was going to have to be Dean.

"But it's the Enochian that gives the best translation! You remember the proscription of punishment, right? Where God says 'Send them against the other that they may destroy each other in battle.' That's not how it translates in Enochian." Make that two puppies.

Dean could only shake his head at Sam's enthusiasm. "I remember that part."

"The Enochian translates that as 'Send the chosen against the others, so they will protect the world in battle.' The Nephilim are actually the ones who protect, called by visions to their sacred purpose." And a couple of kittens with a pony. "Like m –" Sam caught himself. "Like us."

"Come to think of it, Dad thought most of the Apochrypha was a bunch of crap," Dean said.

"Probably because he knew that Mom was Beata and he was trying to protect us," Sam replied. His blue-green eyes were looking back at the parking lot again. "I mean, would you marry someone knowing you had superpowers and not tell them?" He caught the look Dean flashed at him, nose wrinkle and all. "Hypothetically speaking. Only a masochist would marry you."

"Thanks," Dean said lightly. "But why wouldn't Dad want us to know about Mom? If she was super-Mom." He looked at Sam. "And that's a fricking big if, little brother."

"Wouldn't it be dangerous for us to know our real heritage? Especially with a group like the Circle of Enoch gunning for us. Sending demons after us. I bet they found me when I got into Stanford." Sammy looked thoughtful. "Although that doesn't explain why they waited for four years to find me."

"Maybe they wanted you to have a law degree. How else are you going to get off the hook when someone catches Psychic Car Thief Boy boosting cars?" Dean chuckled at his own joke. Sam tried to look annoyed. "Admit it, dude. That was classic."

"Yeah, it was classic." Sam grinned. "Classically lame."

"Seriously, man. Why do you really want her to stick around?"

Sam looked like he was hiding something – the last time Dean remembered that look, it was about Jess. Veiled secrets. He was no better; Sammy had no idea the way the little boy burned inside of him, or the hours Dean spent staring at his little brother's broken body in dreams that started the night Meg died. Laying before the white altar. Sammy. Shattered. "I'm worried about her," Sam said.

"She's not innocent, Sam. Like I said, she's in cahoots." Dean pulled away from the railing, putting both hands in his jeans pockets.

"But we're supposed to help people. It's our job." Sam was acting as stubborn as Dad. Hell, as stubborn as him.

"We help _innocent_ people, little brother," Dean retorted. Sam's face flushed, and he squared his shoulders. All Sam saw was the frail red-head. "Besides, the chick wants to leave. What do you want me to do? Throw her over my knee and spank her until she asks to stay?" And damned if Dean didn't see her on his lap. _Goddamn succubitch! _Sammy was glaring at him. "It was a joke. Jesus Christ!" Dean shook his head. "It's not like I actually want to go there, dude."

"Whatever." Sam was pissed. "She gave us enough research material to keep me going for months – and that's with none of our side-jobs. It's not like Charlie's been hiding stuff from us. She's answered every question I've asked her."

"Still not convinced, Sammy." Dean folded his arms in front of himself.

Sam's shoulders dropped, and he looked down at his feet. All color had drained from his face. "I'm scared, Dean."

"No shit. Hoo-haw destiny? I only understand bits and pieces and _I'm_ scared, man." Dean shifted on his feet.

"There's something inside of me. It's reaching out for you. For her. For people I see in my dreams and have never met. And it wants, Dean. It wants this world. Alex Masters was telling the truth about that – there's a big-ass storm coming. We're talking Armageddon." Sam shivered. Once. Before straightening to a stand. "And I'm the one thing standing between us and the world ending with a bang."

Dean couldn't argue with that – the hollows underneath Sam's eyes had gotten worse, like something was already trying to dig its way out. _Twelve of the Grigori will rise in bodies bred for them to stand by Shemhezai – and he will bring Armageddon._ Sammy's body, a broken shell, laying before the white altar. _And you're the key. _

"You don't get it, do you, Dean?" Sam gave a little hiccupping sigh, his shoulders scrunched down. "Shemhezai. Semiazaz. Shemyaza." He paused for emphasis. "Samyaza."

Dean's stomach dropped, and he fought the urge to pull his little brother into his arms. Just like he would have done when he was four. If Dean could pick him up and carry Sammy out of this nightmare, he'd do it. "Isn't that another name for?" Dean couldn't bring himself to say it. _This is the face that stones you cold._

"Maybe." Sam was holding himself now, shaking. "I'm not sure. I need to translate more of the Enochian. Charlotte gave us more than just the standard Book of Enoch. And she's the only one who can do it, Dean." He couldn't tell if Sam was crying or not; Dean sure as hell wasn't going to look. His little brother's voice was broken, and Dean's heart ached. He wished he was more like Sam. But he wasn't. All Dean could do was stand there and stare at his bare feet, cold in spite of the sun, feeling like an idiot while his brother fell apart.

For about five seconds.

Dean turned on his heel, ripping open the door to the motel room. Sammy followed him back in, subdued, but Dean never registered it. His only objective was getting some goddamn answers about what the hell the Circle of Enoch had done to his little brother. There was music coming from the bathroom, some fucking hip-hop beat and two voices screaming what sounded like "Extra sugar, extra salt" at the top of their lungs. In Japanese accents. One of them might have been Charlie.

He barreled into the bathroom. Charlotte Webb was about to come face-to-face with a Pissed-Off Chosen Fucking Warrior of God. She was pulling on her shirt, mostly dressed, but gave an indignant shriek when Dean opened the door and stepped inside. Until she saw his face. "Shut the fuck up, Yoko. You and I are going to have a little talk," Dean growled, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her out of the bathroom. He pushed her backwards onto the bed, slamming down next to her. "What the fuck are you doing here? And what the fuck are you doing to my little brother?"

"Dean," Sam's voice cut in. His little brother wanted him to be reasonable.

"Were you planning on leaving before or _after_ Sam figured out who Shemhezai really was?" Dean's eyes flared, and she shrank away from him. Charlie looked like he had kicked her, crawling into a little ball inside of herself. And she was guilty as hell, could feel it as clearly as he smelled it. Charlie knew what Sam was going to find – but all that was important to her was getting the hell out of Dodge. She had no goddamn right being terrified when Sammy was falling apart.

"Before," she said, her voice a murmur. Charlotte took a deep breath, watching him with her bruised face. Gulping like she was trying to hold onto herself. "The prophecy has two outcomes. The one who stands in the center, wielding the Light of Dawn, will either seal the Grigori forever or break the seal and become Shemhezai." The red-head looked away from him, but not before he could see something pull around her eyes. "The Council is betting that Sam isn't strong enough, that Shemhezai will consume him. He's not ready to Awaken."

"You bitch!" Dean clamped onto her arm. Hard."This is my little brother you're trying to fuck with."

"Dean." Sam's voice was a little stronger now.

"Shut up, Sammy!" Dean snapped. "And you still didn't answer my fucking questions. I beat up the last bitch who tried to fuck over the Winchesters." His anger slammed out of him. Dean felt it whittle right into her, could see the crack in the gossamer that suddenly surrounded her. The gossamer that protected him in his dreams. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Trying to help," Charlie said. And she was serious. Dean was inside her. She couldn't use her mojo without him feeling it rush through him. He knew what she felt like now, in her own head. "Sam needed to be warned about what the Council was planning on doing to him," she added, pausing for breath. "Alex Masters and I were just the welcoming party." Charlie looked at him like there was something else she wanted to tell him. "The succubus was a trap to lure both of you out – and you were the sacrifice the Circle was willing to make to awaken Sam's powers. You saw the symbols. It worked. Alex has confirmation. Sam is exactly who they think he is."

"And what is that exactly?" Dean made no attempt to temper his rage. It slammed into her again, and she rocked on the bed beside him.

"The one who stands between the worlds," she said. "Liberator or Slayer. Two sides of the same coin."

"You're going to have to come up with a better answer than that," Dean said. He was beyond angry now.

"I can't!" Charlie snapped. "Prophecies are imprecise, Dean. It can go either way. All I know is that _I'm_ a liability." She stood up suddenly, pulling up her shirt. "You see this?" The red-head twisted to point at the tattoo, and her voice splintered in her throat. "It's been burned. What wants to possess me calls to the thing inside of him." She felt like an electric wire inside. "Now do you see why I need to go?"

"It's not that easy, bitch!" Dean snarled. "Why the hell should we trust a girl with a Devil's Trap tattoo?"

Charlie bit off each syllable. "If you do, you deserve everything you get."

"Will you two calm down and listen to what you're saying?" Sam was trying to interrupt again. They both ignored him. "You're on the same side!" his little brother added.

"Sammy, please!" Dean glared at his little brother before directing that stare towards Charlie. "What's the deal with the Council, Emo Girl?" Hazel eyes pinned her to the ground. "And I'll know if you're lying."

"They used to lead the Circle of Enoch. Men and women who fight like you and Sam. Helping them fulfill their sacred purpose, protecting humanity from curses and monsters that we were never meant to see." Charlie said, wincing at the fury Dean buffeted against her. "The Council is corrupt. Anyone who says they speak with the Council's voice has been corrupted, too. Like Alex Masters." Whatever she was telling him, Charlie was obviously not attempting to include Sammy in the conversation. "The Council uses the Circle as its own personal army. There are only a handful of whose who are Called and Chosen." Charlie's eyes softened. "You and Sam are probably the closest I know to what the Circle used to be."

Dean rolled his eyes. _We've just entered Lala-land. _Her stupid theories were unimportant compared to the real question. "And the demons?" Dean asked. "Do they raise demons to do their bidding?"

"The demons don't work for the Council." Charlie's eyes filled with tears, like her heart was breaking. No goddamn mojo flickered within her body, behind that gossamer ball that enveloped her. "The Council works for the Grigori. They've been masterminding a bloodline strong enough to host the Twelve. Alex Masters was one of them." Her voice became a whisper. "So am I." The red-head lowered her head. "And so are you." Her voice cracked, and she continued. "A different version of yourself, one raised by them." Charlie actually looked confused. "They never bothered with your family until Sam was born, because the Council believed you had no gift. You were a wild card. And when I met you, I knew they were right. That anger of yours is holy. It's kept you pure. Untainted. Maybe even incorruptible by one of the Grigori."

His life just kept getting worse. Now he wasn't just a Chosen Warrior of God. Dean was a vessel waiting to be inhabited by a fricking fallen angel after his little brother's soul was consumed by evil incarnate. And it was hard to stay angry with her, when Charlie looked at you like she knew exactly what scared you. Because it looked exactly like what scared her – the whole belief that she was right and the world was screwed because its fate rested in your hands. "We've never even heard of the Circle of Enoch until you showed up, Emo Girl." It was the only protest Dean could make.

"Maybe not, but they knew about you." Her eyes looked right into his. "And they helped Azazeal kill your mother."

The only sound in the room was the whir of the air conditioner.

He couldn't even bring himself to scream, his voice like ice. "So you're telling us that the demon who killed our mother is a fallen angel?" Dean asked. He had heard enough. The only thing keeping him from pushing the girl out the window was the look on Sam's face.

"Azazeal is one of the Twelve. The closer they get to the Rising, the stronger they become." Charlie wrapped her arms around her stomach, subconsciously imitating Sam. "It needed a host to burn twenty years ago," she added, "But it doesn't need one now." She looked haunted by something, and steeled herself against whatever memory was rising inside of her. Dean actually heard a chain rattle in his mind, and something guttered underneath her gossamer shields. "It's easy to fall, Dean. Redemption is a lot harder."

"And how do you know all of this, sweetheart?" Dean frowned, getting more numb with every siren she turned on inside of his head. He could barely hear himself think. How could this girl have answers to the questions that had been haunting them for years, dogging their tracks across-country ten dozen times?

"My teacher was one of the few members of the Circle who still believe in its purpose. Jacob tried to save me. So was…" Charlie's voice trailed off, and she said nothing else.

"So we stop the Circle, we stop Armageddon." Sammy interjected. Dean had never seen him so angry – his body was shaking, and he radiated resolve. All based on some cockamamie story that Dean couldn't bring himself to believe. _Even for Sammy. _Demons. Angels. Prophecies. It sounded like a bad horror movie. "We take out the Demon and avenge Mom and Jess. What's the problem?" his little brother asked.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Sammy, even if Emo Girl is telling the truth, we need to run this past Dad." Dean didn't trust her, but if it was true, Charlotte Webb had given them a name. Dad would know what to do with it."And what do you get out of this, Charlie?" Dean continued, staring her hard in the eyes. "Justice? Vengeance? A date with my cute little brother?"

"That's not any of your business!" She returned the glare, her entire body stiff. Charlotte Webb was definitely hiding something.

"It is my business, sweetheart. You're talking about my little brother." Dean rolled his eyes. "What is it about you and the girls who are all buckets of crazy, Sammy?"

"Dean. Listen to me." Sam's voice was tired and they both turned from each other to look at him; Dean could see a faint blue shimmer along his little brother's cheekbones. "I've already dreamt about the end, and you are both with me. Standing with the others before the white altar."

_The white altar! _His little brother's broken body laying before the white altar. It was the dream that started the night Meg died. It was another of Dean's secrets, something he'd never told Sam. But that was before he found out it was one of those dreams and that he was a fucking psychic. Just like the crazy emo bitch and his doomed little brother. The panic was rising – only one thing keeping him from freaking out entirely. _This is the moment that needs to breathe. _He felt pressure on his wrist; Charlie was holding his arm. Dean pushed her away.

"Dear God." Charlie's voice was a prayer, her gray eyes wild. She recognized it. The goddamn witch knew what Sammy was talking about. Hell, she probably saw it when she was walking through his head like it was a toy store.

"I knew the succubus was there." Sam continued, his voice taking on a sing-song tone that turned Dean's blood to ice. "I dreamt about you, Charlotte. You were going to die. I saw your body laying on the floor next to Dean's. He was dead, too." His little brother was looking at Charlie like he owned her, and the symbols began reappearing on his cheeks and arms. Only they were turning dark orange. "You thought you were there to save me, but I was rescuing you, my Armaros." His glowing eyes focused on Dean. "And you, Arakiel. My brother."

Charlie flinched as though Sam hit her, and then her back straightened. "Charlotte." Her voice was barely more than a whisper, and suddenly she was that defiant girl back in Alfie's. "Magnificat anima mea Dominum: Et exsultavit spiritus meus in Deo salutari meo."

The thing within Sam smiled at that, but the body recoiled. "Only until we cut that abomination from your flesh. Did you honestly think some ink underneath your skin would thwart me?"

"So far all I see is some yapping hellspawn making my little brother sound like an asshole," Dean interjected. Charlie looked just as startled as he felt for saying it.

"She's mine, Arakiel. So are you. I'll corrupt you both in the end." And Dean saw something, like it was pulled out of Sam's mind – a thing with a knife, slicing the tattoo off of Charlie's back. He felt sick. "Flesh is meant to be flayed." The thing smirked, and Dean felt the little girl in a burning nightgown, screaming. "Or burned." The voice was like a caress, and the symbols on Sammy's skin flickered with a fire's glow.

Charlie made a shrill sound in the back of her throat and ran past both of them. Right out the door. _Fuck! _It was either go after the girl before the crazy chick hurt someone or stay with Sammy. Which wasn't a choice at all – if his little brother was changing right before his eyes into some kind of monster, there was no way in hell Dean Winchester was going to let that happen. Sammy came first. Always.

"Go get her, Arakiel. She's not leaving today." His little brother didn't sound like Sammy and the symbols were getting brighter – blue flashes fighting with the orange. "And bring the first aid kit." Sam's voice had real authority in it; all those years traveling with Dad had taught Dean to follow any order given with that tone, and his body reacted automatically. He realized what had happened when he was staring at the outside of the motel room door with the first aid kit in his left hand. _Fuck me!_

Geek Boy was not going to become Creepy Glowstick Boy without a fight.

Dean squared his shoulders and twisted the knob to the room. It didn't budge. He checked in his pockets with his free hand, but there was no keycard stashed in his jeans. Adrenalin rushing through him, Dean took three steps back and threw his body at the door. Nothing. Except a voice in his head. _Go get her, Arakiel. _That didn't keep Dean from slamming himself into the door until he was bruised on the shoulder.

"She's hurt, Dean." Sam's voice was muffled. But it was definitely Sammy. "She needs your help."

"I'm not leaving you alone, Sammy! Unlock the goddamn door!" Dean bellowed. One of the maids passing by with the utility cart gave him a strange look. Dean shrugged – it would have been a lot stranger if Dean had thought to bring a gun out with him instead of the frigging first aid kit.

"I'm OK, Dean." There was a pause. "For now." More urgency in his voice. "Go help her. Please." The door opened a couple of inches, and Sam poked his head out. He wasn't glowing, but the hollows under his eyes had gotten worse. "See, no worse for wear," Sam said lightly. He tried to smile.

"Sammy!"

Sam smiled for real. "Go help her. I'm OK."

"No!" Dean stuck his foot between the door and the jam.

"I'm serious. Go help her." Sam looked so tired, and his eyes were bright. "She's hurt because of this thing – " His little brother choked, trying to get the words out. "She _is_ an innocent, Dean."

"She is not…" Dean's voice trailed off – there was no arguing with Sam. Dean could scream himself hoarse and, in the end, his stubborn little brother wouldn't be reasonable until Dean came back with Charlotte Webb. Dean sighed. "You suck, Sam," he added as he removed his foot. His little brother didn't say anything else, just tilted his head funny and shut the door.

Dean found her at the foot of the stairs. Charlie had collapsed, her body twisted at an odd angle. _She's hurt, Dean._ Dean had a vision of her pin wheeling off the third step, her leg crashing into the iron rail with a sharp crack. _She needs your help._ He ran down the stairs as she brought herself up into a sitting position, her left leg dragging behind her. Charlie's glasses were on the ground next to her.

She jumped when Dean touched her arm, a gulp of terror until her eyes settled on his. His leg hurt. They stared at each other for several moments, and then Charlie gave a little laugh. "The joke is on you, Dean Winchester" she said softly. She lifted her skirt; Charlie was scraped from shin to thigh, and her leg was obviously broken below the knee. _And there are more scars._

The universe could laugh it up – Sammy was still in there. A monster hell-bent on Armageddon wouldn't care about a girl's broken leg. Dean swallowed, and knelt beside her – opening the kit and pulling out what he needed for a splint. She looked at him mutely, her eyes round with pain, and grabbed his hand before he could get started. "Lucky for you," he said. "Winchester boys are prepared."

A ghost stared out from her face, and Dean realized he was too tired to stay angry at her. "Lucky for me," Charlie replied. She let go of his hand, wincing as he put the wire mesh in place – but she had enough control to hold it steady as Dean set the first piece of tape, her face going white. "Your brother is Awakening," she said.

"What do you think we should do about it?" Dean's tone was light, and he felt giddy – like they weren't actually stuck with each other.

"You're on your own, Dean. I had a plan. If I hadn't come up with it, maybe he'd still just be Sam Winchester." Charlie grimaced as he tied off the first piece of tape, sweating from the pain. "Instead of what he's becoming." She held her left arm with her right hand. There were scars on her arm, too. "You get me to the emergency room, and I'll disappear. Call me a cab or take me in your crap car. I don't care."

Dean ignored the dig about the Impala. He coughed. "And if you're telling us the truth, Charlie, maybe you gave him what he needs to stay Sam Winchester." She stared at him hard after Dean said it, like she was trying to figure out if he was making fun of her, before turning her eyes towards the parking lot; her whole body was stiff. "Can we even win?" he asked.

"Are you even listening to me?" Charlie retorted. "In the immortal words of John Lennon – this bird has flown."

"Right off the stairs and into the railing," Dean replied mildly, shaking his head. Charlotte Webb was clever – she was still adamant that she was leaving. He decided to try a different question. It was something he wanted to ask without Sammy overhearing. _Or whatever is inside of him._ "So this Circle is full of people who hunt?"

"Not everyone is chosen to fight. People like Alex Masters train for years before they are sent out to hunt." Her brow furrowed. "But he's a special operative – he only goes on Council approved missions. No one really gets Called anymore. They're too far removed from the source." Her right hand grabbed his arm, and she winced.

"Special operative?" Dean snorted. "You shitting me?" Charlie shook her head as he tied off the second piece of tape. Charlie had said that she was Circle-trained; that meant she must be able to take care of herself. She did give a mean head-butt before knocking him flat on his ass. The nagging guilt subsided a little – maybe she would have been all right on her own after all. "So how long have you been a special operative, Charlie?"

"I'm not," she said. "I help with research when I'm not at school." Dean couldn't tell if she was amused or angry.

"But you can do that touchy-feeling mojo."

"So can you, Dean, but I don't think you kill demons by making them cry to death." The ghost touched her face again. "Besides, I had physical therapy instead of combat training." Charlie smiled brightly. "But I can shoot a gun a little."

And that's when it hit him. For the first time since colliding into him on a dance floor, Charlotte Webb wasn't hiding anything. She looked completely unguarded. Dean knew how to handle girls with their guard down. He was Dean Winchester. His voice drawled, "Didn't any of those special operatives teach you that you fire a gun?" He backed it up with a grin. "You shoot the demons." Dean looked at her thoughtfully. "I guess if you loaded a .45 into a howitzer, you could shoot a gun."

"Duly noted." Charlie smiled weakly, and shivered as he set the third piece of tape – the one closest to the break. She squeezed his arm again, but she hadn't once cried out when the pain became strong, and somehow Charlie was able to steady herself so as not to go into complete shock.

"So what did you research?" Dean looked down at the splint – it didn't seem to be too tight, based on the swelling around the break. "Did you get to work in the super secret lab making special weapons?" He could see her in a white lab coat, wearing those glasses and carrying around a clipboard. It was probably the glasses. "You carrying around some bazooka-gun hairbrush in your duffel bag?"

"You've found me out." She raised an eyebrow. "But the hairbrush is mine."

Dean did a double-take. "Did you just make joke?"

"It was bound to happen sooner or later," Charlie said, as deadpan as could be, "But the answer to your question isn't so glamorous. I translated texts – usually Latin, but some Greek and Aramaic to stay sharp."

"That explains it," Dean returned, still grinning at her. "_Maybe you'd actually strike fear in the hearts of demons, Dean Winchester, if your Latin didn't suck_." He chuckled. "But, come on, who needs Latin when you've got a Glock?"

"Dead languages don't get any respect from you commando types," Charlie snorted. She tried to smile again, but ended up clutching his arm more tightly. "Do you like summoning hordes of tiny frogs with your exorcisms?"

"Goddamn, Charlie!" The girl was almost as good a sparring partner as Sammy. "You've got quite the little mouth on you!" Dean waggled his eyebrows at her.

She suddenly looked annoyed. "Are there any serious things you want to know about?" Charlie frowned. "The clock's ticking."

"Well, yeah," Dean shook his head. _Last time I'm nice to you, bitch! _"But it sounds pretty crazy. Sammy said something about you knowing Enochian."

"I do." She frowned, adding, "As much as anyone can, I guess. I was working on a translation program when I found out about the second ending – the one where Sam doesn't break the seal." Dean believed her. It wasn't her mojo – it was the realization that no one could keep spouting that kind of crap without believing it. _Or delusional. _"When the Council sent me on the mission," Charlie continued, "I figured I could get that information to Sam without Alex finding out."

"And why would they send a librarian on a mission?" Dean asked, trying to look innocent. "Instead of another special operative."

Bitterness passed over her face but Charlie surprised him. "My best guess is that they were testing me," she said. "I think they always knew I wasn't my mother's daughter, that I –" She looked stripped bare, but stopped herself. "But the Council never planned on you." Charlie wrinkled her nose. "Neither did I, when I came up with my incredibly stupid plan."

"Your plan to save the world from Armageddon by handing my little brother a book bag full of research notes and a glowing sword?" Dean tried to keep the sarcasm out of his voice, but he was a Winchester. Charlie was going to have to deal. He started on the last piece of tape. "I think you're really selling yourself short by calling it incredibly stupid."

"You forgot the part where I leave and disappear." Charlie noticed the way he was looking at her, disbelief intermingled with disgust. "Not everyone is brave." And there it was – the fragile look again. "But it's not going to let me leave. I'm Armaros." She chuckled, a self-deprecating laugh like the one he remembered her using before. "The accursed one."

Dean remembered the name that thing had called him. "Arakiel?"

"The mighty," Charlie replied automatically. She was shaking.

Dean closed his eyes, the roll of tape dropping out of his hand and onto the ground. He saw Charlie's body pin wheeling off the steps again, heard the crack of the bone breaking. The rush of air leaving her body as she connected with the pavement at the foot of the stairs. And that voice coming from Sammy's mouth. _She's not leaving today. _"Did that thing push you?"

"I think so." And she sounded just like a little girl when she said it. Lost and scared. "Even I'm not that clumsy."

Dean felt sick to his stomach at that. Charlie saw his nausea and raised it with some dry-heaving of her own, bent away from him so he couldn't see her. It was an oddly delicate gesture, the way her body twisted, but it couldn't downplay the panic he felt rising from her – twin to the horror binding his chest. _This is the cloud that swallows trust. This is the black that uncolors us. This is the face that you hide from. This is the mask that comes undone. _It was hard to breathe.

Sammy needed to be saved from whatever was growing inside of him – and Charlie was the only person who had a clue what the hell that could be. Dean gulped, trying to ignore the warning siren going off in his head. _Ominous, I'm in us. Ominous, I'm in us. Ominous, I'm in us. Ominous, I'm in us. _He had to make her understand. How hard could it be? Charlie actually believed in this Grigori crap. "Will you help me save my brother?"

Her gray eyes widened with the question, and she shook her head. "I can't. If I stay…" Charlie's voice trailed off, but Dean heard that thing's voice. _Flesh is meant to be flayed._ "You don't know the price of betrayal, Dean." She was still touching his arm, and a vision of a man, thrown up on the ceiling, exploded in his head. White light against the back of his eyelids. _Or burned._ He was small, and his body felt like it was kissed by fire – arms holding him in place while he watched the one thing he loved most in the world burn on the ceiling. _This is the cloud that swallows trust._

"Please." It was one of the hardest things he could ask and Dean didn't try to say more – Charlotte Webb was Emo Girl; she'd be able to read between the lines. Dean tried to do what she did, pushing his feelings for Sam into her so that she would understand what he was losing, what he would dare to save his little brother. Even asking the girl whose answer to every question caused warning sirens to go off in his head. _When we were young, I pretty much pulled him from a fire. And ever since then, I've felt responsible for him. Like it's my job to keep him safe._

Her face darkened. "How can you possibly trust me, Dean?"

"Here's the thing, Charlie. I _want_ to trust you. Right now I'm thinking that you're the best shot I've got to keep my little brother from becoming Creepy Glowstick Boy." Dean thought he was a good judge of character on most days. _This is the black that uncolors us. _He lowered his voice, his eyes hardening. "But if I ever find out that you are actually here to fuck with my baby brother, I will put you down like a dog." Threats never hurt. _This is the face that you hide from. _

That got her attention. Most people would have looked away, but Charlie just raised her chin. "Promise me that."

"What?" It caught Dean off-guard.

"Promise me that." Her eyes were hard. "If I actually start fucking with Sam, I want you to keep that promise." The response didn't make him feel any better about the whole thing – and the momentary flash of the red-head writhing underneath his brother's lanky body made him feel like he was watching something unholy. _This is the mask that comes undone._ Especially when he realized her body didn't have scars. Her mouth twisted. "Promise me that you'll put me down like a dog, Dean. Or I'm walking."

Dean pushed the image aside. She was serious. _Ominous, I'm in us. Ominous, I'm in us. Ominous, I'm in us. Ominous, I'm in us._ He eyed Charlie critically. She wasn't letting go of his arm, and he couldn't see anything between them. Her fingers were like icicles – she was just as cold as he was. And part of him wasn't even sure he could go through with it. "I promise." He found his voice. "If I even think Sammy might get hurt because of you, I will put you down."

Her head jerked backwards, suddenly, and then she relaxed. Sighing, her hold on his arm loosening – but she never stopped touching him. "Then I guess I'm the cavalry." Charlotte Webb was terrified – of what they'd just promised or something else, Dean couldn't tell – but she believed him. She actually wanted him to kill her. If she turned into whatever the hell that thing called her. Armaros. _That anger of yours is holy. It's kept you pure. _

Dean took a breath, picking up the tape to finish securing the splint. _What the hell have I done? _He had just made a deal with a girl setting off every warning siren in his brain. For Sammy. His father would never have made a crap-ass deal like that. _This monster lives. _"You always this freaky?" he asked.

"I wasn't kidding when I said the joke was on you." She attempted to smile, to reassure him that he had made the right decision. Which might have worked if Charlie actually believed it.

"I guess not." Dean shook his head. "But at least we know the Winchester luck is intact." He grimaced. "Not to mention the fact that being a Chosen Warrior of God blows." Dean almost sounded like himself if he tried hard enough.

"Why do you say that?" Her smile brightened, just a little. Charlie was the girl in the bar, sparking off his jokes.

Dean's grimace turned into a grin. "God sent me a librarian who doesn't know you actually fire a gun as the freaking cavalry."


	6. Blasphemous Rumors

_**Strange Angels**_

This is set sometime after the end of Season 1. While it doesn't break canon to my knowledge, it is definitely AU. Dean doesn't believe the cockamamie story dropped into their laps about fallen angels until Sam's Awakening can no longer be denied. So Dean makes a deal with Charlie to save his little brother – and the promise she forces out of him makes Dean wonder exactly which Winchester needs to be saved.

Disclaimer: The Winchester boys aren't mine. The Colt isn't mine. Wish the car was mine. But I can only blame myself for the Circle of Enoch.

Characters: Sam Winchester, Aaron, Dean Winchester, Charlotte Webb

Rating: PG (Angst! Mild language. And more shirtless Dean. I figured out a way where throwing him into this chapter without his shirt on wasn't just gratuitous fan service. Mostly.)

Summary: There are some things that rock salt just can't fix.

Feedback: Please! I'm begging you, people. Give me feedback. I won't stop writing, but this won't get any better without your help. ;-P

Miscellaneous: Special thanks to JMM0001 for continuing to thwack me with a stick, and making certain that the angst isn't too overwhelming. (Given my week, it easily could have been.) The lesson we learned this week is: never write fanfic when you have the flu. As always, the good parts are because of her. The bad parts are all me. And this chapter is dedicated to starpixie16, who made a Sammy fangirl out of me.

**Chapter Five: Blasphemous Rumors **

The only thing more terrifying than that split-second look on Dean's face – the combination of horror and the automatic resolve to fix something so broken no one should touch it, the certain knowledge that Dean would die before he stopped trying to fix it anyway – was the fact that Sam had put it there.

Dean never knew when to quit, when to stop pushing. _When to turn tail and run._ Sam thought nearly dying after they faced the demon – _Azazeal_ – the last time would have taught his older brother a valuable lesson about tactical retreats. Sam had no problem packing his family into the Impala and driving away as fast as the car could burn rubber down the highway. The night Jess died, it was Dean who barreled into the room like an avenging angel and pulled Sam outside. Minutes after the monster living inside Sam Winchester crawled out between the cracks, Dean nearly dislocated his shoulder bashing into the motel room door to rescue him. All because Dean wanted to fix the shattered thing that Sam had become.

And Sam knew that was a lost cause.

The thing inside of him was powerful – more powerful than any monster they had ever faced. It had given birth to the others, if its memories were true; Sam had no reason to believe otherwise. And Shemhezai was hungry. It had been denied the world once, abandoned by its own children when they took up a different banner – the very warriors that were supposed to march in its ranks protecting the creatures that contaminated the land, little more than a disease running rampant across the Earth. The ultimate betrayal. Shemhezai scattered those children across the world, a handful of broken bodies against the rocks of mountains, and cursed each one that survived. Their descendants would become vessels for the fulfillment of its thwarted ambition.

What was Sam Winchester compared to that? A small thing lost in the belly of the beast, trying to hold onto itself while the monster howled its millennia of loss. A broken thing so beloved – for no reason that Sam could actually fathom – that Dean would take his battle to Hell itself to save him.

Even a stranger was going to give up the only life she'd known for him.

Charlotte Webb owed him nothing. Sam saw what Azazeal had done to her, plucked from her mind as easily as fruit off a tree. The hands that burned. The loss that flickered across her face when Shemhezai flaunted that memory between all of them, taunting her as easy as breathing. And she knew what they fought, how the world was ending with a bang and Sam Winchester was all that stood between it and Armageddon. So she was going to give him what she could and go hide. Sam didn't blame her for that. Not one little bit – the beast inside was taking her the moment it burst out of its shell.

And she had helped Dean. The way she held the pain – cuts ripping open on her chest as Sam pulled out the splinter, momentarily infused with a blue glow – would have been proof enough for Sam. But after the splinter was removed, Charlotte pulled Dean into her arms and held him – head bowed and eyes closed, red hair blowing in its own breeze as the light shining from her skin permeated the room with a soft incandescence. A shadow passed from Dean's face to hers, an unspoken sorrow so deeply buried that Dean would never tell it to anyone. After that, there was nothing to doubt – Sam Winchester believed in angels.

Only an idiot would think he was one of them, though.

Shemhezai had recognized them both, the bodies that its children would wear when they Arose to stand behind him, Ascendant in his Glory. And it was pleased that the two had come so easily within its grasp – one as a brother whose love for a ruined husk was easily manipulated, and the second as a girl whose very flesh could be used against her. It tried to break both of them, dreamed of cracking those bodies against the white altar. But they had walls that the thing could not penetrate by force; hers was gossamer thick, his was iron-bound. The damnable specters would not leave their shells so easily.

Sam didn't know how long he was going to be able to hold onto himself.

He closed his eyes, blocking out the glow from the side lamp with his arm. Even with his eyes closed, he still saw the look of horror on Dean's face when the other voice inside of him spoke – followed almost immediately by the reckless courage that would defy every demon and battle every monster to save Sam. Undercut by the immediate obedience to a voice giving orders. And Shemhezai was cruel – it knew how to control his older brother with nothing but voice inflection, reaching past a crack in that wall to pull out one piece to use.

What it had done to Charlotte Webb was even worse, slamming into her with the image of Armaros. Sam saw her running down the stairs – running from her body underneath his, a body without scars. The part of him that was still Sam Winchester let her go, even though he wanted her to stay. She could be a friend. But the thing _needed _her to stay – so it pushed her. Right into the guard rail. The look on her face when her leg connected with the metal rail ripped another hole inside of him.

Sam Winchester was full of holes these days. Probably always had been – ripped open by the memory of his mother, the horror on Jess' face pushed deep inside. All the things he should have told his father – especially when he understood the loss that drove John Winchester. It was that same despair that drove Sam away from Stanford and onto the hunting trip from hell. Jess had belonged to him. And Sam had belonged to her. It was that simple. The demon stole that from Sam, and Sam was going to make it pay. Winchesters didn't love by halves – Dean was proof of that. _I swear to God I will march into hell myself and I will slaughter each and every one of you evil sons of bitches, so help me God! _

God help them all the day Dean decided to make good on that promise.

And it was because of Dean that Sam could still hold onto a shred of himself, lost within the belly of the beast. That look on Dean's face, the one that would scourge hell for his little brother, gave Sam just enough control to warn Dean about Charlotte. Listening to Dean pounding on the door reminded Sam that someone still cared, that he was more than a shell, a broken carcass waiting to be filled by an ancient hunger. Sam was able to hold onto himself just enough to push Shemhezai inside, and take back his body. For a little while. _Or maybe it just got what it wanted._

The one thing Sam knew with all certainty was this: he was never letting the thing inside of him anywhere near his brother. Ever. Again.

He was going to take his shredded soul and he was going to leave. Dean. Sam Winchester was going to leave. He couldn't live with the shadows of what this thing would do to Dean, how it would use the love he had – the one constantly good thing in Sam's life – and break his older brother with it. Because that's exactly what Shemhezai was going to do. It was going to break Dean, sending his older brother's soul God knew where, so that Arakiel could Rise. Corrupt him into becoming what it needed, instead of what Dean was. And Sam wasn't letting that happen – the guilt was bad enough with a girl he knew for almost two days. Especially one he thought could be his friend. Sam didn't want to be the thing that made Dean look like that.

He had to leave before they got back from the hospital. Sam couldn't look into Dean's eyes, couldn't face the girl. And Sam needed a plan if this was going to work, because Dean would come looking for him as soon as he realized his little brother had gone. He couldn't just leave, despite how elegant the whole thing seemed – just grab as much stuff as he could carry in a duffel bag and go. Sam had a little money, didn't even need to use one of the credit cards; Dean would report the cards stolen quicker than Sam could get on a Greyhound bus, anyway. Missouri would only tell him to go right back to his family. Bobby might let him stay for awhile, if the lectures about family didn't kill Sam first. There had to be a way to leave Dean and until this whole thing was over. Until Sam had control, or until he was hollow.

As soon as he could bring himself to move.

"If you really wanted to leave, you'd be gone by now." It was a man's voice – a drawl that could only come from the Appalachian stretch of Kentucky.

Sam snapped to a sitting position, eyes blinking as they adjusted to the room. A man in his early thirties, with shoulder-length dirty blonde hair, was sitting on the rickety chair near the desk. He was dressed in jeans and a Sex Pistols t-shirt. He picked up Charlotte's mandolin, and began plucking out a tune Sam didn't recognize, accompanied by the backbeat of his thumb against the body of the instrument. Sam's eyes narrowed. The man's eyes glowed with a blue incandescence.

_Fuck! _

Sam reached for the crucifix in his pocket, holding it out towards the man. He swallowed – he was in no condition to fight a demon. By himself. _There's no way in hell I'm letting you take me without a fight!_ "Christus!" Sam yelled.

The man chuckled. "I'm not a demon." And his eyes were normal – a friendly brown color, crinkles around the edges. "And a part of you knows that. You'd be chucking rock salt at me otherwise." Sam hadn't expected that – the thing knew how to deal with ghosts, and had just admitted that it's exactly what it was. But he looked nothing like any ghost the Winchesters had ever come across; he wasn't threatening, didn't stink of evil like other spirits. "And did you just listen to yourself?"

"What the fuck?"

"There's no way in hell I'm letting you take me without a fight." The older man returned. "Sounds to me like you're not ready to give up the ghost." And he grinned so hard that Sam wanted to return it.

Almost.

"What the fuck are you?" Sam's voice didn't waver – he was proud of that. Whatever this thing was, it had gotten past the salt lines. But it didn't react to the name of God like a demon would have – even a powerful one.

"The name's Aaron," the older man replied. "Last time I checked, I was a musician. Wanted to be in a band – had dreams of touring all over the world, with a wife I loved and a daughter to write songs about. Then I found out some assholes were going to start Armageddon. So I fought them. And I died. Lost the wife. No daughter to sing the songs I wrote about her." His eyes were screaming with something Sam couldn't even put into words, and then he sighed. "We need to talk, Sam."

Sam wasn't surprised the man knew his name, but the familiarity pissed him off. Like this thing felt it was his place to teach Sam a lesson. _Not happening, dude. _ "You have no idea what's inside me," Sam snapped.

"I know exactly what you have inside of you," Aaron returned. "Shemhezai is rising, Sam. And you're not ready for him. You're not ready at all." He smiled. "But you're not ready to lose. Not yet. That's where I come in."

"You can't just waltz in here and think you're giving me some kind of spiritual pep talk." Sam felt the blaze, tight within his chest. _It can't get any harder with a monster inside of you._ "I don't need your help."

"Who said anything about a fucking pep talk, Sam?" Aaron frowned. "You want to lie here and wallow? Be my guest. Even that little red-head you boys picked up shows more gumption than you do, and she was raised _in_ the Circle." The accent was stronger the angrier he got.

"Screw you," Sam snapped. "You think I don't know that I'm just feeling sorry for myself?" Maybe he was. But there was a monster inside of him, whittling out Sam Winchester's bones to make room for itself. And there was nothing Sam could do about it – couldn't control the powers that burst from his skin as blue-tinged sigils, or the voice that threatened with an orange fire. He had earned the right to feel a little sorry for himself, paid for it with blood and loss.

"You think hiding until that thing's gotten rid of all of you is going to save your brother?" Aaron looked Sam up and down, disgust clearly written on his features. "Help you make amends to that girl?" Brown eyes narrowed. "You think running is going to make that blonde girl you loved come back? Avenge your mother? Help your father make peace with himself?"

Instinct took over. Sam reached next to him, pulled out the shotgun that Dean always kept next to his bed. The ghost's eyes widened – startled. The expression seemed familiar, but Sam couldn't say from where. He pulled back the bolt and fired. "Fuck you!"

Rock salt sprayed the man right in the face – but Aaron turned his body to keep the mandolin out of the line of fire. Rock salt shredded the wall. Aaron's body shimmered. Intact. He set the mandolin back on the desk. "You're going to have to do a lot better than that to take me out, Sam Winchester. I'm everything you could be if you'd stop trying to fucking shoot me and let me help you."

Sam knew he should be afraid. The damn thing wasn't even stunned by the rock salt. Got past the salt lines. Didn't flinch at the name of God. He felt weak, fell back onto the bed. The stories Charlotte had given him. _I'm everything you could be if you'd stop trying to fucking shoot me and let me help you._ An entire file folder full of stories. _Fucking moron._ None of the remedies worked because the ghost staring him down was one of the Beata. The Blessed Children. Endowed with gifts by God himself to withstand the Grigori. _And rock salt._

It made sense. _Almost._ Sam's eyes narrowed. "So why the hell didn't you give me a warning four days ago? Before this crap happened and I could have stopped it." Not facing the succubus would have kept whatever was happening – his Awakening, Charlotte had called it – in check. Out of sight, out of mind. "It would have been a hell of a lot easier to prepare me before the demon started eating me from the inside."

"You're going to get sick of people telling you this," Aaron replied, rolling his eyes. "But you're dealing with a prophecy. They don't exactly have time tables, but events need to progress a certain way. As they're foretold." He lowered his head. "Like that blonde girl."

Aaron was talking about Jessica.

Sam felt something else break inside, another hole rip through him. Sam lost another piece of himself, gone with his beautiful girl – the one whose hair was like the sun. The beautiful girl snuffed out on a ceiling, forever imprinted in his brain while her blood dripped on him, and he could never save her. All he could do was scream at that image, denial pouring through him while he knew she was dead. Dying. Consumed by fire. Tears swelled in his eyes, but there was no way in hell he would cry in front of this asshole.

"She wasn't just an unfortunate casualty." _The demon killed Jess just to mess you up, Sam. It likes playing with Winchesters._ And there was sorrow in Aaron's face; he cared about the death, was trying to explain to Sam why it happened. "Jessica's death served a purpose," Aaron added.

Sam didn't care. "And what was that?"

"To set you on your road. Confused and lost. Alone."

"So I could fulfill a freaking prophecy?"

Aaron nodded. "And so you would be easier to control. Killing the woman you loved was the best way to force that hand. The other side needs you to be weak, Sam." He lowered his eyes. "No one expected your brother would pick up where your father left off."

Sam folded his arms on his chest. "Let me guess. You're going to tell me you're one of the good guys." But he already knew the answer – the thing inside of him recoiled every time Aaron opened his mouth, secrets that were supposed to control Sam spilling out. Sam guessed he should thank the man for that, at least.

"You need a teacher, Sam."

"I need fucking answers. You just told me Jessica died because of me. Me! Tell me something new." Sam rolled his eyes. "I'm waiting, sensei."

"You're trying to _bargain_ with me, boy?" And Aaron's voice rumbled, eyes sparking blue.

That was it.

"You want me to help you? Tell me who's fucking next. Who will I hurt next? Is it Dean going up on the ceiling the next time, just to throw me off?" That stabbed Sam sharp, right through the chest. "Or do I rape Charlotte Webb?" _Armaros inflamed._ "Or is it someone I don't even know who gets to die because I'm the fucking chosen one."

"Dean's body won't burn because Arakiel needs it," Aaron replied. The thing within Sam screamed at the admission, like it had lost one of the cards it held – and abruptly stopped moving when Aaron's sharp-eyed gaze snapped on Sam. "Azazeal never got Jessica's soul."

Sam choked. How did this thing know that had been his worst fear? That Jessica would have been dragged to wherever the demon had sprung. That did make the tears spill, for only a second – Sam lowered his head, hands clutching his jeans, to calm himself. Aaron made no move to console him, but didn't mock him, either. "How do you know?" Sam asked, almost an afterthought.

"Jessica Moore was an innocent. Azazeal can take many things, but not one such as her." And the look on Aaron's face, the authority in his voice when he said it, lifted a weight Sam hadn't known he'd been carrying. Jess' soul was safe from the monsters they fought, day in and night out. He'd never have to salt her bones and burn her remains. "Her soul rests, Sam Winchester."

But it still didn't help the loss, fill the hole. It was the anger that helped – the constant companion Sam could muster. Dean had told him to let the anger go. Sam was going to use it to take Azazeal out. And now that he had a name, Sam was going to be able to find it. "Then help me kill it. As soon as Azazeal is dead, I'll fulfill your prophecy."

Aaron sighed. "You're one stubborn son of a bitch."

"I'm a Winchester." And that explained everything. Why Sam was taking the demon down. Why Sam would stand up and fight – no matter the odds – to keep that look of off Dean's face. Sure, he'd spent some time wallowing. Winchesters did that, too. But then they picked themselves right up off their ass and got back to work.

"We're betting on that." There was a smile on the man's face. "But Azazeal is not your task, Sam," Aaron said, voice serious despite the smile. "You need to prepare yourself for the Awakening."

"I'm not preparing for the Awakening until that burning freak is dead!" Sam's eyes blazed. "You people owe me that for Jess. And my mother!"

"You're the last in a very long line, Sam." And the glow emanating off of Aaron became so bright, Sam had to shade his eyes. "Azazeal will fall. That is a promise." The man's voice was tinged with power, a spark that made the thing within Sam's chest start to howl. Pure. _Holy_.

The moment passed. Even Aaron seemed startled – and when he spoke again, his tone was subdued. "But that will only happen if you're ready for the end. And you're not, Sam. You're not ready at all." And suddenly he looked like he had when he first spoke. A normal man. Only one that was touched by the blood of angels. A glimmer of blue across the skin, a glint of light within his eyes.

Which brought them right back to where they started.

"No shit, Captain Obvious." The thing inside Sam was still gibbering, bashing against the walls of his rib cage in its attempt to get out and confront the man sitting across from him. "And you're the best that God can send me?"

Aaron chuckled. "There's something you need to learn about God, Sam. He doesn't sit around expecting us to do nothing, and then just swoops down to save us. He sets the stage, but we're the ones who act. He didn't send me. I came. And others will come, too."

"Why?"

"Apart from the fact that you're the only chance this world has?" The older man shook his head. "We all have our own Jessica Moores, Sam." Sam saw a fire reflected in Aaron's eyes. "And we were raised to believe that our children would change the world. All we had to do was hold onto it long enough." His voice grew hard. "But the Council betrayed us, our scared duty. So we died reminding them what it meant to be Nephilim." And the look he gave Sam reminded him of Dean. "I was Called and I was Chosen. I died fighting. I fight in death."

_Holy shit. _The ghost was serious.

But so was Sam. _Dean's not dying that way._

"You want to tell me what I need to do to prepare for the Awakening, I'm in." He stared the older man in his glowing blue eyes. "But if I have a shot at Azazeal, I'm taking it for Jess, and my mom, and your prophecy can bite me."

Aaron sighed. "That's not – "

"My task? I know." Sam stood up, stretching. "But it's the best you're getting out of me. Take it or leave it, dude."

Aaron cocked his head to the side, blue eyes piercing through Sam's chest – like he was searching through his soul. Pulling up memories like so many pieces of stars. Dean feeding him Lucky Charms. Jess in a nurse's outfit. Even his mother on the ceiling. Like Aaron was testing him. Seeing if Sam was really worth his time. It might have been creepy, before the monster that was swarming out of the fissures of Sam Winchester's heart. The ghost nodded, once. "We'll help you." _What the fuck?_

"Right. So how do we do this thing?" Sam didn't care what he had to pledge – he'd give up the tattered remnants of himself if it would avenge his mother, avenge Jess. _Save Dean._ And Shemhezai had given birth to Azazeal, it was a fitting punishment – a parent for a parent. Let the demon know what it was like to lose the things you loved the most. He just needed to figure out a way to burn the bastard on a ceiling, so Azazeal would get the full effect of what it had done to Sam. And Dean. Max and Charlotte. And the others he had never even met. _The others in my dreams._

"You need to start practicing with the sword." Aaron frowned. "You're aware that it's the Light of Dawn?" So that's what Charlotte meant – _The one who stands in the center, wielding the Light of Dawn, will either seal the Grigori forever or break the seal and become Shemhezai._

"I'm pretty good with a sword," Sam retorted. "Better than Dean." _Thanks to the whole wanting to be Luke Skywalker thing. _"I'm better than my dad." He had so many things to learn now.

"But you're not good enough to face Alex Masters again without a tranquilizer gun," the ghost said, a knowing smile on his face. "And you better believe he's coming back for the sword."

"Charlotte told me the sword was mine." Sam was shocked by the fierce possessive that twisted through him, in the hollowed out bones of his ribcage. If Shemhezai started whispering 'My preciouss' in the back of Sam's brain, he would not have been surprised.

Aaron nodded. "And she's right. But that doesn't mean the Circle of Enoch doesn't want it back." He smiled, a little sadly. "They'll give it back to you once Shemhezai ascends. Until that happens, you can use it to break the white altar. And if that altar's broken, the Circle of Enoch's Armageddon collapses like a house of cards." The smile on the ghost's face matched the one that flickered across Sam's – until Sam caught a flash of children's faces, unharmed and happy. "Now do you see why we want to help you?"

Sam was beginning to understand. "It's not just revenge."

"No. It's something else. But you're going to have to figure out for yourself what it is we get." And the look on Aaron's face meant one thing to Sam – he'd never get the answer out of the ghost, no matter how he tried. It was hope, and secrets. "And here we go, jumping the gun to your final task." _It won't mean anything to you if you don't figure it out for yourself. _Aaron sighed."The sword is only the beginning. I also need you to find a book and read it."

"What kind of book?" For a second, he felt just like the old Sam – getting excited about going to class. A bright future. Or at least it was something to look forward to that wasn't the evil coiled around his innards.

Aaron gave him a strange look. "It's a novel."

"You want me to read a fucking novel?"

"You're going to need to know a lot of things, Sam. We all teach our lessons in different ways." The older man looked at him expectantly.

"Fine." Sam shook his head. "What do you want me to read?"

"_Illusions: The Adventures of a Reluctant Messiah._" The damn thing was smiling. "By Richard Bach."

"You've got to be shitting me."

"What the caterpillar calls the end of the world, the master calls a butterfly."

"Oh, man!" Sam rolled his eyes. "Don't tell me the whole book is full of crap like that." And what if Dean caught him reading it? His older brother would have a field day once he got his hand on a book full of half-assed fortune cookie quotes. "And I still don't see how this is going to help me defeat Shemhezai."

"It won't mean anything to you if you don't figure it out for yourself."Aaron raised an eyebrow, but then his mouth twisted. "I can't make you any promises, Sam. It's going to be hard. And people will die along the way."

"Dean?" Sam's throat swelled.

"There's no way of knowing," the ghost replied.

"No way in hell!"

Aaron's eyes were the stars themselves. "You believe in that, Sam. Always keep believing that."

"I –" Sam gulped. "I do." His voice found itself. "I will!"

"Good." The older man nodded and he looked normal again. "I don't have much time." He frowned. "You need to learn how to ground yourself, Sam."

"Okay…" Sam's voice trailed off. "The book and the sword I can do. Who the hell is going to teach me how to ground myself."

"The girl," the ghost replied.

"Charlotte?" Sam tried not to screech, but the idea of Charlotte Webb teaching him anything after he fell down the stairs bordered on the ludicrous. "She's leaving."

"Sometimes people surprise you, Sam. If you give them a chance." Aaron smiled. "And you're both smart kids. Between the two of you, you should be able to figure out a way to make it work." The ghost turned his head quickly towards the door of the room. A very loud voice approached the door. _Dean. _

"And she'll know what this is?" Sam asked dubiously. "And be able to teach me before we drop her off at the bus station?" he added. There was no way the girl was going to stick around after the thing inside of him pushed her down the stairs.

"One last thing." Aaron's voice was calm, but his eyes were almost blinding. "Tell Charlie she needs to get a new case for the mandolin. And that she might want to oil it more often than she does." The door rattled and Aaron jumped.

"Damn it," Dean said, his voice muffled by the door. "I forgot my cardkey." Sam blinked, getting to his feet, and Aaron disappeared. The only evidence that he had been there in the first place was the rock salt-pitted wall. And Sam didn't feel Shemhezai inside anywhere; when he looked into the mirror, he looked more like himself than he had in days.

Sam crossed the room quickly, opening the door just as Dean attempted to knock on it. He held his breath, hoping Dean would understand the thing inside was not his little brother, but the smile that spilt across his older brother's face when he saw Sam was the only answer he needed. Sam felt a little giddy himself, returning the smile as he opened the door wider. Until he saw Charlotte Webb standing next to Dean on her crutches. Sam's smile disappeared.

"Hey there, little brother!" Dean was remarkably calm – like the red-head standing next to him couldn't just reach out and touch his inner feelings. Sam narrowed his eyes. Dean didn't notice. "You hungry?" his older brother asked. Dean was carrying a couple of McDonald's bags in his left hand, and had a drink carrier tucked precariously under one arm.

"Jesus!" Sam grabbed the drink carrier. "How much food did you get?"

"We're eating for three now, Sammy." Dean walked into the room, followed by Charlotte walking into the room behind him on her crutches. Sam put the drinks on the desk, careful not to knock the mandolin. Dean's eyes flickered to the wall. "Sam, something you not telling me?"

"Bad dream." And he hoped Dean caught her look. _I'll tell you later._ Sam had to tell Dean about Aaron. Dean needed to know. But he wasn't going to do it in front of the girl.

Dean grimaced. "Bad enough to shoot rock salt at the wall?" He shrugged, eyes searching Sam's face. Sam let out his breath – Dean wouldn't push it in front of Charlotte Webb. _Message received._

"I'm having vivid dreams these days," Sam replied lightly. He smiled tentatively at the red-head. "So, Charlotte, you're staying?" Sam hadn't expected that, but the thing inside of him didn't stir. That was a good sign. _For now. _Dean put his bags of food on the desk near the drinks.

"For a little while," Charlotte said, maneuvering easily through the room to her duffel bag. _She's been on crutches before._ She had the bag open, and was leaning on one crutch with the other against the wall while she pulled out what looked suspiciously like a daypack – something you'd carry on a plane. "Can't make any promises as to how long," she added, glancing at Dean.

_What the hell did they talk about in the hospital, anyway?_

Charlotte tossed the bag onto the bed she had slept in the night before, than walked around with the crutches to the nightstand between the beds. She leaned herself against the edge of the bed, setting the crutches on the bed itself. _So she can get them without asking one of us._ And then she tried to slide up onto the bed, ending up stumbling. Sam looked away – she was trying so hard to be self-reliant. But Dean had already jerked forward to steady her. "Thanks," she said softly.

She was already settling herself on the bed, pulling something out of the daypack, when Sam looked at her again. "So what's the verdict?" Sam asked, sitting opposite Charlotte on the chair the ghost had used.

"Broken leg," Dean replied. "Courtesy of the goddamn thing in your head."

"How bad?" Sam had to know.

Dean shrugged and looked at Charlotte. She had pulled out a set of headphones, and plugged them into an iPod. And she hadn't gotten the MP3 player out of the bathroom yet. _How many iPods can one person own? _She leaned against the pillows behind her back, closing her eyes. Wrapped her right hand around the biggest scar on her left arm. When she didn't say anything, Dean frowned. "It's just a simple fracture," he said. "She'll be in a cast for about eight weeks."

Sam whistled. "That sucks." He wanted to apologize, but saying something about your inner demons sucking face didn't open the door to the optimal conversational segue. And Sam wasn't even sure it was true – Armaros was coming at Charlotte Webb from the outside. Shemhezai couldn't get in. At least not now.

"She won't be bull rushing us anytime soon," Dean agreed, "But she can use that head-butt sitting down." Dean had his back to Charlotte, opening bags. She didn't rise to his challenge – just kept her eyes closed. "So be careful when you give her the hamburger, dude." Dean handed Sam a Big Mac, eyes flickering at Charlotte. Dean frowned. "She likes to go left."

Charlotte sighed, opening her eyes. She slipped the headphones around her neck, and Sam could hear music coming from them as he walked closer. _Depeche Mode?_ Sounded a lot like it. Her hand jerked back like a shot when he accidentally brushed her wrist. "Thank you, Sam." And she wouldn't touch him again when Sam handed her the Big Mac for the second time. _Is she that scared of the thing inside me?_

"So how long is a little while?" Sam asked, sitting back down in his chair. He pulled a Big Mac out of the closest bag. "A couple of weeks? Hey, we could drop you off in DC, so you could avoid the bus." He smiled at her. "Lots of weirdoes on the bus. People you might want to avoid."

Dean flashed him a look. _Are you fucking out of your mind, Sammy? _ Maybe he was. Sam still couldn't knock the feeling that Charlotte could be a friend – which was probably her mojo. He got that. Dean said it made you want to like her, made you want to help her when she was hurt. So maybe it really pulled a number on you when you were the one who broke her leg.

"I usually fit right in with the weirdoes," Charlotte returned off-handedly. She pulled the paper away from her hamburger, biting into it delicately. She still looked tired, and a little pale. And serious – Sam wasn't used to that. Dean ran from being serious like he ran from most things. Jess could be serious when she needed to be, but Charlotte Webb rarely cracked a smile. Except when she was poisoned by a succubus.

"I don't doubt that, Girl Genius," Dean said. _Oh, shit._ Dean was actually going there. And he thought Sam was crazy? _Fucking moron. _Leave it to Dean to provoke the only trained psychic in the room, like he needed her to fight back to justify his anger – the exact same defense he used on Missouri.

"May I have my shake, please?" Charlotte took another careful bite of her hamburger.

"Sure." Dean's shoulders tensed, his voice hard. "No problem." He set it next to her on the nightstand between the beds, and then pulled something out of his pocket – a bottle of pills – and handed it to her.

She took it from Dean with the same deliberate intention as she had the Big Mac, wary of touching his hand. "Thank you." Charlotte set the bottle next to her shake on the nightstand, hand trembling.

And that's when her mojo kicked in. Sam watched as Dean's shoulders slumped, and he lowered his eyes. At least Sam didn't feel like he was breaking every rule of the road by wanting to be nice to her. "Look, Charlie." Dean waited until they made eye contact. "The next couple weeks are going to suck if you're always thanking us for handing you stuff."

"The next couple of weeks are just going to suck," the red-head replied. "Once the percocet wears off, you'll figure out why my mother was always making donations to the hospital." And she was smiling – a little shy smile that Sam would never have guessed her using in a million years.

"That's where Sammy comes in." Dean returned, his eyebrows raised. "One look from those puppy dog eyes of his, and you'll be towing the line." He smiled back at her. "I told you Winchester boys are prepared."

"Puppy dog eyes?" _What the fuck! _What happened to not trusting the girl? "I'm sitting right here, asshole."

Dean chuckled, and started pulling off his shirt.

"Dude!" Sam yelped. "What are you doing?"

"Getting ready to take a shower before I eat. I'm dirty as hell, man."

Sam coughed. "Opstay ippingstray inway ontfray ofway ethay irlgay."

"It's not like she hasn't seen me in my boxers before, Francis, and all I'm doing is taking off my shirt," Dean retorted. He walked over to his own duffel bag, pulling out a new pair of boxers and shaking his head. "Pig Latin? Dude."

"I was _trying_ to be subtle." Sam glanced at Charlotte; she was still calmly eating her hamburger.

"Whatever, man." Dean was still shaking his head as he walked into the bathroom. And Sam noticed the look that flashed between his older brother and Charlotte Webb – and it stung a little to realize that Dean hadn't shut the door all the way, kept it open a crack. The skin on Sam's cheeks burned. _So when I become Shemhezai and she starts screaming, Dean will hear her._ They didn't have to be so goddamn obvious about it.

Sam stared at Charlotte, listening to Dean putter around in the bathroom. His older brother found the MP3 player, because music started pouring out of the crack in the door. "Goddamn," Dean barked after ten seconds. "You're never driving my car." Then there was grunt, and the music was replaced by the familiar strains of "Enter Sandman." The shower started running.

"So," Sam said. Charlotte took small bites of her hamburger, methodical and a little slow. If she was worried about the beast erupting out of Sam's belly now that they were alone, she wasn't acting like it.

"So."

"This is pretty awkward," Sam admitted.

That pulled another small smile out of her. "What _isn't_ awkward about this, Sam? I've got a list with checkmarks next to every inept thing I've done since I met you."

"We'll have to compare lists sometime, " Sam chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. She was nicer than he thought she'd be, broken leg and all. Without Dean constantly pushing her buttons. "But I need to ask you something."

"Can it wait until morning?" A shadow crossed her face. "I'm tired."

"It's important." But Sam couldn't bring himself to ask the question when her gray eyes focused on his face. _What if she's using her mojo on me right now? _He coughed, taking a deep breath. "How do you apologize to someone for the monster inside of you? Tell them that you're really sorry they got hurt because you weren't ready to deal with what was happening?"

"Just like that." Charlotte's gray eyes were serious, and her face opened completely.

Sam's throat swelled. _Sometimes people surprise you, Sam. If you give them a chance. _

She was watching him, a shy girl in glasses. And then she sighed. "This is still pretty awkward. At least you didn't see me having sex with your brother in the back of a car, or something." She took another bite of her hamburger, swallowed as she watched Sam thoughtfully. "Because that would be _really_ awkward."

"I didn't see much." _Dean kept your shoes on. _"Anyway, uh…"

"That was supposed to be a joke at my expense, Sam. Didn't anyone ever teach you about falling onto your own sword?" Charlotte smiled – a real smile. "Why is it that no one ever gets my jokes."

"It must be such a big pain being so smart no one gets your jokes," Sam retorted.

"Something like that." Charlotte reached for her pill bottle and opened it. Popped the pill and took a little sip of her milkshake, head cocked like she was trying to figure him out. "I can't even wash my hair now without someone's help." She gestured down at her leg in its cast.

"_Dean_ signed your cast?" He couldn't think of anything else to say to that.

She nodded. "Said I looked like a loser. I can't tell if it says 'screw you,' or if that's just how he signs his name." She lifted her head, making a show of looking at her cast.

Something cracked inside of Sam Winchester – a door opening, as unguarded as her eyes.

He had to tell someone. Maybe it was even better that it wasn't Dean.

"I never stopped to think about what it was like," Sam said. Calm. Conversational. "Getting possessed. All those people we save, and I never once thought to ask them what it was like." He snorted. "Well, now I know. How scared you are when you're stuck in the back of your head, watching some thing inside of you move. Speak with your voice. And all you can do is scream inside of yourself, wishing you could come back."

Sam spit out the words quickly; he wouldn't be able to say them if he stopped. "And then it hurts someone." His breath caught. "Oh God, all I could think about was what would I do if it hurt Dean? Or killed someone?" He lowered his head. "And Dean. He brought me back." She didn't say anything, just watched him talk. "I don't know how long I can hold onto myself. I can't ever get away from it. It even talks to me in my dreams."

"For how long?" Her voice was soft, but she looked like she was getting ready to bolt off the bed.

"Months, I guess. And they're nightmares. I thought they were part of the visions I was getting, but now I'm not so sure."

"Beata are called to their duties by dreams and visions. Makes sense that the other side would do the same thing; their powers have the same origin, even if they are corrupted." She frowned. "You're getting messages from both sides."

"Seems so."

"I don't envy you for the world, Sam."

That surprised him. His head shot up, and she was looking at him. The way Charlotte had looked at Dean when he finally fell asleep, one hand on his forehead while she watched him breathe. Sam's heart lurched, stuttering against his chest. She was worried about him.

"I'm turning into a monster," Sam said softly.

"Maybe knowing that is what you need to stay Sam Winchester." She made a face.

"Maybe." Sam shook his head, took a breath. Cleared his thoughts. "Is there a way to work on that? To not lose myself?"

"To work on not losing yourself?" Charlotte's eyes widened. Sam recognized the expression. _Oh, fuck me. _Aaron was related to her. _Uncle?_ Maybe even father – he was the right age, but they didn't look that much alike. And if she was using her mojo, Charlotte just missed a big fucking clue. "You're talking about a mental defense?" she asked.

Sam nodded. _So not going there with the Aaron thing._ "Isn't it called 'grounding?' Wiccans do it all the time, right?" _Smooth…_

"I don't know much about Wicca," Charlotte returned dubiously, "But I use meditation to center myself. Usually with mu –" She stopped herself. "Everyone has their own technique, Sam." The red-head shook her head, registering his stare. "Oh, no. You're asking me to teach you!" Charlotte looked annoyed, right into his eyes. "There's a reason I work with dead languages." She closed the paper around her hamburger, slowly – glaring at him as she set it in her lap. "I'm _not_ a people person."

"I need help." Sam wished like hell his voice didn't crack.

"No." Arms folded, chin raised as she continued to stare him down. "It's bad enough I'm still here, Sam Winchester. There's no way in hell I'm putting myself in a position to touch…"

"The thing inside of me." Sam shook his head. "I'm not asking you to do that. I just want you to teach me how to ground myself." He sighed, lowering his head. He had to make her understand. Sam couldn't run. But he had to learn how to protect himself. _To protect Dean._ Charlotte was still staring at him when he raised his head. "Please," he added.

"God has a sick sense of humor," Charlotte muttered, arms around her stomach. But then a thought occurred – and a smile spread across her features, like she was watching the Whos down in Whoville. "You want my help? Ask Dean. If he's OK with it, I'll help you."

"_Dean?_" Why the fuck would Dean need to be told about this? Had Dean already laid down the "my way, or the highway" rule with Charlotte Webb? Right up there with the music crap – _Driver picks the music, shot gun shuts his cake hole._

"Take it or leave it." Charlotte was almost as goddamn stubborn as freaking Dean.

"You think you can help him, Charlie?" Neither of them realized the music had stopped, or that the bathroom door had opened. Well, Sam hadn't – Charlotte probably knew Dean was watching the whole time. Could sense him there with her Gift. Dean stood in the bathroom doorway wearing a pair of boxer shorts, towel wrapped over his shoulders. He was being considerate.

"Maybe." She scowled. "I have a better chance teaching you."

"Like that's happening, sweetheart." He shrugged his shoulders. "So you'll help my little brother?" She nodded, turning to look away from him. Sam thought she was blushing. Dean didn't seem to notice. "Alright." He snorted. "I still smell like succubitch." Dean threw his towel near the pile by the door. "Which sucks, because I'm hungry. And succubitch ruins my appetite."

"That's where you're wrong, Dean." Sam shook his head, chuckling. _Never underestimate the power of my older brother's pectorals. _Charlotte Webb was going to help him."You really wanted strawberries."

Dean's head whipped in his direction, eyes stormy. Sam shrugged his shoulders. _What the hell did I say?_ "Succubus poison sucks rocks," his older brother said softly, walking over to the desk and picking up a bag of food. Dean brought it with him and set it next to Charlotte's bottle of pills. "Think we can leave in the morning, Sammy?"

"Do you feel like leaving in the morning?" Sam asked. "We all look like hell."

"Not really, but sitting here for three days while Geek Boy gets his panties in a bunch over research books isn't high on my list of things to do while recuperating." He glanced at Charlotte. "And she needs her rest, too. No late nights for Charlie or her translation program."

Sam grinned. "OK. I promise."

"Are you two really sure about this?" Charlotte asked suddenly. "Because it's not too late. I can stick around for a couple of days, and leave on the bus when you're both ready to go wherever it is you're planning to go."

Dean frowned. "We asked you to come, didn't we?" He looked sick – and Sam didn't blame him. This was like going on a road trip with Missouri Mosely, and there were few people Dean avoided faster than Missouri. The girl who could reach out and touch someone probably wasn't high on his list of traveling companions. Which begged the question of why Dean had asked her in the first place. Sam figured he _really_ didn't want to know the answer, because it probably had something to do with him. And Shemhezai.

_Yeah, shouldn't have gone there._ He coughed. "We need your help," Sam added. Dean raised an eyebrow. "Well, I need your help. Enochian's all Greek to me." Another smile flickered across her face. He leaned forward conspiratorially. "Dean needs a personality consultant."

Dean sat back onto the bed, back against the headboard, and looked at her. And then he smirked. _Oh, fuck me. _"So, do you prefer Emo Girl or Book Bag Avenger? I'm leaning towards Book Bag Avenger." Damn Dean and his stupid road trip initiation rituals. His older brother chuckled. "I'm going to be telling that story to Sammy's grandkids."

"Dean." Sam shook his head. A warning. _Shut the fuck up, idiot._

"Hey, Sam. This is serious. Every cute girl sidekick needs a code name."

Sam choked. Dean pulled a hamburger out of his bag. Charlotte waited until he had just taken a bite out of it before snatching the pill bottle off the nightstand and whipping it towards Dean. It rattled as it arced through the air, smacking sharply into the wall about two feet past Dean's head, and landed next to him on the bed.

"Sidekick?" Charlotte asked softly, eyebrows arched. _Cute sidekick? _The girl wore cardigans.

"It was sidekick that got you?" Dean grinned. "Because I was really betting on Book Bag Avenger."

"You scored points for Book Bag Avenger," the red-head replied as Sam took a bite of his own hamburger. She returned his grin with one of her own. "It's why I aimed for the wall."

"You were aiming for my head."

"You should just be happy that I throw as well as I shoot a gun."

Dean didn't get a chance to make his snappy comeback. "You fire a gun," Sam said automatically. "You shoot the demons." It was one of Dad's biggest pet peeves – the whole idea that you shoot a gun. Even had a whole crack about sticking a gun into a howitzer to shoot it. Dean's eyebrow twitched, and Charlotte had a dazed expression for a couple of seconds, like she'd just been smacked upside the head with a two-by-four.

And then she and Dean took one look at each other and burst out laughing. "Sammy," Dean managed. Whatever the hell Sam had said, it was fucking funny. If you were in on the joke. When you weren't in on the joke, you just sat there feeling stupid. Except hearing them laugh – watching Dean laugh, even if it wasn't the usual full-on laughing mode – felt pretty good. Which made Sam grin.

Until he felt a slither through his ribcage, a growl deep inside.

A/N:

No overtly fangirly references in this one, apart from the generic comic book geekiness. What can I say? It was a slow week.

The title is a song by Depeche Mode.

Didn't like it? Let me know — I crave feedback and won't get any better without it. Did the boys seem off to you? I can fix it if you tell me. (And this is my first time writing Sam's POV, so any concrit would be most welcome.) Hope the Enochian lore is almost over? So do I, because now it's time to start telling the whole story. And if you liked it, a little note saying so would be likewise greatly appreciated.


	7. The Baby Screams

_**Strange Angels**_

This is set sometime after the end of Season 1. While it doesn't break canon to my knowledge, it is definitely AU. Sam's picking himself up off his ass and getting back to work, because there's no way in hell that Dean's going to die. Prophecy or not.

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Disclaimer: The Winchester boys aren't mine. The Colt isn't mine. Wish the car was mine. But I can only blame myself for the Circle of Enoch.

Characters: Charlotte Webb, Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester

Rating: PG (Angst. No shirtless Dean in this one. But I did put in some Impala love.)

Summary: Cows, claymation, crap cars and confessions. The things a girl's got to do.

Feedback: Absolutely!

Miscellaneous: As always, this would not have been possible without the brilliance of JMM0001, who not only had me giggling with her notes but told me the chapter worked (even when it didn't go the way I had planned). And for continuing to thwack me with a stick, because I need it; even on the best of days. As always, the good parts are because of her. The bad parts are all me. And this chapter is dedicated to wenchpixie, who keeps telling me that Charlie can stand on her own.

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**Chapter Six: The Baby Screams **

Breakfast was a ritual complete with offerings – usually grease-covered fried eggs and equally greasy hashed browns, with stacks of pancakes next to slices of toast overloaded with butter and, in Dean's case, strawberry jam.

Even Sam – who usually attempted to eat food not inherently designed to welcome heart disease – had indulged in the greasiest meal at every dirty spoon they came across during the last week. And the Winchesters had an uncanny knack for tracking down hole-in-the-wall diners; Dean pointing the Impala unerringly down the road where an unhealthy breakfast could be purchased as a blue-plate special for less than five dollars.

They ate like starving men – Dean scooping up mouthfuls of fried eggs with his toast, Sam ordering sides of bacon and sausage like there was a meat shortage. Shoveling down food with a careless abandon, completely unaware of the looks the other patrons gave them as they planned their daily route – moving around until something came up to investigate. Laughing and joking with each other, especially when they forgot that Charlotte was sitting there watching them – eating a bowl of oatmeal along with a banana. Family.

In the three weeks it took to find the Winchesters, breakfasts were never like this. Alex was fastidious about what he ate – those who worked for the Council needed to be in prime physical condition. And they were quiet – Alex eating his egg-white omelet while going over his notes, reviewing his messages on his Blackberry. If Charlotte even attempted to make small talk, Alex would give her the same look they all gave her. Charlotte Anne Webb had traitor's blood pumping through her veins. Every action was questioned, every day was a test of devotion to the Circle. And every day, Charlotte was found wanting.

The Winchesters' breakfast ritual never included a litany of every mistake she made the previous day – unless you counted Sam's complaints about her snoring.

Their third day out of Milwaukee, Charlotte succumbed to temptation. Sam's eyes widened when she rattled off an order of double biscuits and sausage gravy with a side of bacon, but Dean chuckled when she added a banana as an afterthought. He even shared his toast with her when she was still hungry, slathered in butter and strawberry jam – which made Sam's eyes go even wider and a sharp shock rustle through him. Charlotte didn't flinch. How could they learn to trust her if every move betrayed that she knew what they felt? And she wanted them to trust her.

Sometimes wanting wasn't enough.

Her shields were returning – she'd spent a day trying to get the inner one back, deadened as she was by the Percocet. Listening to techno, mostly – using the repetitive nature of the music as a focus. Only strong emotions were getting through her shields, those so sharp that they whittled through her. And the inner one never fell. Dean seemed to think that Charlotte spent her entire day sitting in the back of the car, keeping herself open like a wide area antenna – making cracks about how she got better reception with her headphones on. Sam acted like her silence was merely Charlotte's attempt at being polite while she sifted through their insides with her brain, filing away everything they felt – everything they thought – for some later purpose. Like she was a telepath. She wished that she trusted them enough to tell the truth.

The truth was that feelings hurt. Charlotte went through life blocking out most emotions because the pleasure of other people caused real pain – a lesson learned from her mother. Not the pain that came from being angry, or saying the wrong thing at the wrong time, but the pain of cutting someone. Killing someone. Making them burn. There were those who enjoyed the power that simply taking a life could bring, and the pleasure derived from its pain – her mother with Azazeal inside of her, the burning hands that made her watch. Always the power and the pain.

In Charlotte's nightmares, her gift was practical. She could kill. It was simply a matter of falling into his destiny, hand-in-hand with the smile that unleashed Armageddon. So along with silence, she cultivated walls. No less than six at any given time, between herself and the people she was supposed to call family. No less than six shields present when she walked the halls of the building she was supposed to call home. And when she needed them, there were more. Wrapped around her like an onion.

But the moment Dean Winchester looked at her with the eyes of a son who lost his mother, she dropped them all – dropped everything because his eyes looked like he lived with loss every day. Having sex in the Impala had left her shaken – she'd never needed anyone the way she needed Dean Winchester in the back of that car, like he was the other half of her soul and she would get it back, even if only for the ephemeral seconds he was inside of her – but the instinct to trust him was dangerous. A week later, it was the instinct that remained.

Their seventh day on the road, Charlotte didn't even order the banana. And she added a short stack of pancakes.

"Want a little pancake with your syrup?" Dean quipped; she'd poured too much damn syrup on them. Sam snorted, looking at her out of the corner of his eye – waiting to see if she would get upset or laugh.

"If you didn't insist on stealing all the Ding Dongs at lunch, I'd already be getting my sugar fix," Charlotte retorted, giving Sam a side-long grin. Dean laughed with her, comfortable. "A girl's got to make do with you Winchester boys," she added.

They both looked at her then, relaxed in the rhythm of their journey – even with the empath sitting in the booth next to Dean; neither of them caring that she was bringing Alex Masters down on them as surely as they were all breathing.

And if Alex found them, he would kill her. He would kill Dean. Shemhezai would rise out of Sam Winchester – a boy so innocent that he believed she needed his help. Because Shemhezai just needed the bodies intact – not even whole. He didn't need the souls inside. Isn't that what Richard Masters had told her mother while Charlotte burned?

Charlotte shuddered, fork dropping out of her hand. Cracking on her plate. The clatter echoed through the Yellow Hen – two of the regulars sitting at the counter turned to look at her, before shaking their heads and turning back to their breakfast.

"You okay?" It was Sam. Dean was just looking at her, like he was trying to figure out what he'd done wrong.

"I'm fine," Charlotte returned. At least she hoped she would be. "I haven't been sleeping well." The dreams were getting stronger each night, a front-row seat in the retribution play. Dreams of exactly what the Circle would do to them, what Alex was planning as punishment.

"You having nightmares?" That was Dean. His voice was short, undercut by the tang of fear. Charlotte caught a flash of the white altar. She walked with him there, that first night. In his dreams. Charlotte wondered if he even remembered.

"Since we left Wisconsin," Charlotte confirmed. Dean didn't press the subject, but Sam had already opened his mouth to ask the question. "Not about Shemhezai. Personal things."

"Handsome demon hunters who steal your Ding Dongs?" Dean asked. Relief flooded through him. _No dreams of Sam Winchester and the white altar._

"Demon hunters, anyway." Charlotte picked up her fork and began tackling her eggs. She accidentally ripped open the yolk. "Shoot!" Charlotte carefully tore off a piece of toast and stuck it in the hole so that the yolk wouldn't spread all over her plate. "No Ding Dongs," she added.

Sam looked at her thoughtfully. "Circle stuff?"

"Sammy," Dean's voice slithered between them, annoyed. "You like it when people ask you the opening up questions?" Charlotte's eyes flickered right at him, a little startled. But he looked like he was curious himself – Dean had been the one to ask her questions about how the Circle was structured, where it kept its libraries, if they had safe-houses. A reconnaissance mission for his father, like the good soldier he had been raised to be.

"It's OK." Charlotte smiled. "And Sam's right. It is about Circle stuff." Sam didn't press at that point, either – just continued looking at her like he wanted to fix her. The boy with the demon inside still wanted to help other people. Even someone like her. _Jacob was right about him the whole time._

"You really are one of the good guys, Dean," she continued. She'd have figured it out sooner if he wasn't also the world's biggest prick. But he cared. Probably too much, which was the problem. Dean made a face. "You both are," Charlotte added, flushing. She knew it was maudlin and Sam suddenly found something on the wall that held definite interest. But Charlotte felt safe with them, a feeling she'd never known with anyone but Jimmy and Maggie since... _My father._ Not even with Miles.

And she liked them. Another line on the long list of things Charlotte never expected.

"You know you eat your eggs like a freak," Dean pointed out. He was gesturing to her plate, where she had put the piece of toast into the yolk. "Is that how special operatives eat breakfast? Like a crazy person?" He grinned.

"I've eaten my eggs like this since I was little." Charlotte shrugged her shoulders. "I never liked the egg whites, so I ate them first, and then saved the yolks for my toast. My father thought it was funny." She gave Sam another side-long glance; the younger Winchester returned her grin. "Do you honestly have nothing better to do than watch a freak eat her fried eggs?"

"Anyway…" Dean's voice trailed off, and he glanced at Sam with a strange expression on his face. Charlotte could almost hear his thought on that one – _Girls are fucking weird, Sammy._ "So what's the agenda, Sam?"

Sam stretched out the map on the table next to him, finger trailing down a route. "We should be in Madison around dinner-time," Sam said. "Earlier if you drive."

"I was thinking that we should split up for this one." Dean scratched his arm absentmindedly. "I'll take the bar, and you and Girl Genius can go on a stakeout. There's a grocery store right next to the church." He pulled out the newspaper article, gesturing to a one story building with a huge sign on top that said _Peachin's General Store_.

"Are you crazy?" Sam nearly yelped.

"What part of my academic resume makes you think I should go on a _stakeout_?" Charlotte slammed her glass of orange juice on the table, glaring at Dean. _What the hell are you thinking?_ "Do gargoyles speak Greek? Because that's news to me."

Dean shrugged. "Hey, it's an easy gig. Gargoyles don't hurt people. They're mischievous." He lowered his voice. "But it's a farming community and they do go after things like cows. Could hurt a smaller farm."

"You're sending me on a job to save a _cow_?" Charlotte laughed; Dean looked too sincere for it to actually be an insult. "And how do you suggest I get onto the rooftop of a building with my leg in a cast?"

"On crutches," Sam added. He clearly thought the idea of Charlotte assisting on the job was just as stupid as she did – much to Dean's obvious annoyance. "Why can't she go into the bar with you? Her gift would help, wouldn't it?" _Dear God._ Sam was trying to turn her into a Hunter, too. "I mean, she's trained to interact with people," the younger Winchester added.

"You know I have my own special interrogation techniques," Dean returned. "Charlie would ruin _my_ mojo."

Sam snorted. "You just wanted to pick up chicks and dump Charlotte with me for the night."

"She needs to learn how to protect herself," Dean countered. "And gargoyles are the easiest gig, Sammy. You know that. They fly around, eat livestock, and then go to sleep on something that reminds them of home. Like that church."

"Are you planning on hand-to-hand classes when she's out of the cast?" Sam looked disgusted. "I'll start looking up firing ranges when we get to the hotel. And maybe Jet Li takes credit cards and will give her martial arts lessons." He shook his head. "She's a psychic, Dean. We can't expect her to fight the way we do. Physically."

"She's sitting right here!" Charlotte interjected as they turned to glare at her – obviously she wasn't supposed to join in on the conversation. Arguing was something the Winchesters had perfected into an art form, and interruptions only broke their stride. "Here's a plan. Dean can go to the bar and get laid, Sam can go hang out on the roof of a grocery store not getting laid, and Charlotte can stay in the motel room watching _Scrubs_." She frowned. "I do know how to lay salt lines. I can even manage a purification ritual with a little salt and water. Why don't I handle that?"

"I could get laid if I wanted to," Sam glowered.

Dean muttered, "And I'm not going to…" His voice trailed off and he scratched the back of his head.

"The point is that I'm not a Hunter." Charlotte picked up her orange juice, tried to take another sip. "I don't even _want_ to be one." She frowned. "And with an uninterrupted evening, I can finish coding another block of the translation program. Maybe even get started on the next one."

Dean gave Sam a side-long glance, and his eyes hardened. "Look, Charlie," he snapped, "We don't know how long it's going to take to figure this thing out. Sam and I don't exactly take care of puppies for a living. You could get hurt." He scratched underneath his left ear. Dean was uncomfortable, not sure how to get the words out. He grimaced. "I'm not asking that you hunt with us. We – " and Dean glanced at Sam before he continued. " – just want to know you're not going to end up getting killed."

"Let me get this straight. You want to take me on hunts to protect me, instead of letting me stay in the motel?" Charlotte's mouth twisted. "Do you have any idea how ridiculous that sounds?"

"What happens to you when the Circle shows up at the motel?" Dean countered. "You think Alex Masters is going to wait for us?"

Sam looked at her, a haunted expression in his eyes; another feeling so strong it came out as a thought. _Or if Dean is out and Shemhezai takes over. _

Charlotte felt her own eyes softening in response, the argument stopped up in her throat before it could be fully voiced. _Damn them!_ They weren't lying. This had nothing to do with protecting their own butts out on a job; if it had, she'd be out the door and in the Impala by now – pulling on her headphones to block out their anger, waiting to watch the scenery as they drove past. But it wasn't. Their concern was genuine – and you didn't need to be an empath to see it. _Like I'm becoming a friend._

_A friend who doesn't trust them isn't a friend._

She dropped her glass of orange juice on the table, splashing juice against herself. Charlotte felt the slow rush of heat up her cheeks when one of the regulars made another crack about her, loud enough to hear. She grabbed a paper napkin out of the dispenser and began wiping the map down with it. Ineffectually. Sam reached over to try and help her. "I'm so sorry," she blurted. "I've always been a clutz and – "

"Jesus, Charlie!" Dean's voice was hard again, and she recoiled; tried to cover it up just as quickly. Charlotte could barely bring herself to look into his eyes. He sounded like Alex Masters. "It's just a freaking map," he added, as they made eye contact. "It's OK." Dean sounded like he was talking to a child, or an animal. A frightened animal. _Crap. _He had seen her flinch.

"I'll handle the gargoyles by myself, Dean," Sam added. "We should have talked to Charlotte first about what she wanted, instead of just dumping it on her." His blue-green eyes shot her up and down, and he smiled softly. "Besides, the quicker you get that program done, the quicker we can start doing more research."

"True enough." _And the quicker I can leave. _"And I can sense Alex Masters coming. I trained myself to do it." She sighed, trying to wipe the orange juice off her sweater – but it had already soaked into the fabric. "I'm never going to be like the two of you," Charlotte added.

"Witty?" Sam asked.

Dean grunted. "Or handsome?"

"Brave." And she said it with such finality, neither Winchester could respond. Sam frowned – trying to think of something consoling to say. Dean just gave her that look again, like he was trying to figure out what she really meant. Charlotte returned the gaze. "The price of betrayal, Dean. Remember? The last time I did something brave, I was six."

"The last time you did something brave was a week ago," Sam said. And he had a stubborn look in his eye. The same look they both got when they were expecting an argument, and just as unwilling to back down from it.

Dean nodded. "Much as I hate to admit getting knocked on my ass by a ninety-pound girl, you probably did save my life." The older Winchester looked at her briefly and then back at his plate. "And taking on that succubitch was gutsy. Hell, Charlie, you didn't even have a gun."

"I have a confession to make." It was Charlotte's turn to blush. "I didn't exactly knock you down." Two pairs of eyes stared at her. "I used the momentum from the succubus to get Dean on the ground."

"You _let_ the succubus hit you?" Sam nearly choked on his apple juice.

Charlotte nodded. "I've never knocked anyone down in my life, so it's a good thing the laws of physics work." And then it was time to add insult to the injury. "And that I weigh a lot more than ninety pounds," she added.

Dean's eyes widened, and he burst out laughing – actually leaned back in the booth while he laughed so hard, tears stood in his hazel eyes. Charlotte expected that; Dean liked a good joke as much as anyone. Sam's eyes narrowed and he made a slight scowl – mouth a thin line. And he was upset, annoyance fluttering in his stomach. Whatever Sam was thinking, it had nothing to do with the succubus. He wasn't talking about it. Dean didn't seem to notice.

"So do we have a plan?" Dean asked, eyes still twinkling.

Sam nodded. "Yeah. Are you driving?" He was pulling out his wallet, putting some money on the table.

"Sure as hell not letting Charlie drive after hearing that Yoko crap she likes to sing when she's in the bathroom," Dean retorted. He slid out of the booth, grabbing her crutches from where she had leaned them up against the wall. "And I'm being nice by calling it singing."

"She's on crutches, doofus," Sam snapped. "Don't be a jerk."

"Since when does being honest make me a jerk?" Dean retorted. He was right; her singing was awful. It never stopped her from trying, though. "You coming or not, Girl Genius?" Dean added, holding out his hand to help her out of the booth.

"I think I can stand up by myself, Dean."

"Suit yourself." Dean shrugged his shoulders, and then he turned and walked out the door – but not before giving the cute brunette waitress a grin on the way.

Charlotte slid down the length of the booth when he was gone, pulling herself into a standing position by bracing one hand on the table and the other on the wall behind the booth. He'd left the crutches for her.

Sam coughed, and she turned to look at him. "You don't touch Dean, either."

"Excuse me?" Charlotte nearly jumped. How closely had Sam Winchester been watching her? Two days ago, Charlotte made the mistake of taking Dean's hand; the flash of lust that poured through her when a blonde waitress walked by was more than unsettling – she almost fell back into her chair from the shock.

"At first I thought it was just me. That it was because you didn't want to touch Shemhazai," Sam said. His blue-green eyes stared at her, hard. The way Dean stared when he was trying to figure her out. "But you don't touch Dean, either. Not if you can avoid it."

Charlotte didn't know what to say to that – Sam was right. She didn't touch anyone if she could avoid it. Charlotte could live with the glimmers of feeling rushing through her as she walked through a crowd, the occasional flash of a particularly strong emotion worming its way through a crack in her outer shields; but to actively drop into someone, to find the dark spots that required absolution, was something she avoided. Touching someone, even for a brief moment, could trigger the gift.

And the gift was fickle, Calling Charlotte Webb when she least expected it.

"Hey!" Dean popped his head back into the diner, impatience quickening towards them. "You two coming, or are you just going to stare at each other like two moony retards?"

"He's been waiting a week to pull that line on you," Charlotte said softly.

Sam chuckled. "I know. My brother's a prick."

"Lucky for him that Winchester boys are cute." Charlotte saw the catch in Sam's shoulders as she followed him towards the door. _Oh, God. He's worried about Dean and me. _She wanted to tell Sam she had a boyfriend, and that his older brother was definitely not her type – but the man in question was in earshot. "Or else he'd have a world of hurt waiting for him every time he opened his mouth," she added, passing through the door past Dean. "I don't know how you do it, Sam."

"Do what?" Dean asked, holding open the door for her.

She smiled at Dean. "Put up with you."

"I'm saintly," Sam returned, bestowing a subdued version of the same grin that his older brother used on waitresses. He walked around to the front passenger seat, and Charlotte heard a click when he put his hand on the door. Her eyes narrowed – he'd never actively used telekinesis around her since the first night. When he blew up the demon. What the hell kind of message was he trying to send anyway?

Charlotte shrugged her shoulders and Dean unlocked the back door for her. He felt uneasy – a sharp stab right through her stomach – and when they made eye contact, Dean was the one to look away. _What the hell?_

She braced herself against her duffel bag – she'd been using it as a pillow whenever they traveled – and pulled out the pink iPod. Traveling music was definitely in order. Sam and Dean passed a look between them as she pulled on her headphones, turned on her music. Dean was going to listen to Zeppelin again, but her own headphones were turned up so loud, she barely registered the opening notes of "Kashmir."

They had barely pulled out of town when she closed her eyes.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

"_Do you see?"_

_The cold voice. The cold that snatches. Liquid ice against the skin, the freezing blaze in her heart. Did she see?_

"_Yes."_

_She saw. Watched from outside the shell, the fleshy skin. Hanging off his bones like so many tatters. Cracked against the white altar. But she remembered his eyes. Cold now against the shattered skin. Dead now on the white altar. And the cold voice, laughing, as light coalesces._

_Ascends._

"_He can stop this."_

_The warm voice. The voice at night. A blanket under the stars, when the wind blows through the open window._

"_Do you see?"_

_And she did. The other, blowing through her. Her hands, holding him as he fell – farther and faster than they had ever fallen in dreams, than they had ever fallen before. Than they would ever fall again._

"_He's not ready."_

_The line snaps._

"_Couldn't ask for more."_

_And she screams._

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

"Easy now."

There was a weight on Charlotte's chest, pushing hard. Constricting. She reached a hand to her cheek. It was damp, slick with tears. And her throat hurt, like she'd been screaming. _Heaven, give me a sign. _Something cold against her lips, something wet. Water. And arms around her, holding her up while she drank. Concern wrapped around her like a blanket. _A blanket under the stars when the wind blows through the open window. _

Charlotte opened her eyes. Dean was holding a bottle of water to her mouth, hazel eyes watching her furiously as she drank. But he wasn't holding her. Sam had her on the ground, braced up against him with his arms around her. Why the hell wasn't she in the car? Charlotte lurched forward, his hands were on her arms. His hands were on her arms. And the weight. It hurt, banded about her chest with iron.

"I said easy now."

That was Dean. The voice. Charlotte reached up both hands to take the water bottle, drinking slowly. The constriction eased as Dean fell back on his heels, glancing at Sam over her head. They were both worried, but fear was bouncing off Dean with orange sparks. Charlotte whimpered, remembering the pain. Now she was seeing his fear. And her head hurt. "I'm OK," she whispered.

"You sure as hell don't sound OK," Sam muttered, his voice rumbling against her back. She learned forward slowly, trying to extricate herself from his arms without grabbing onto Dean; Charlotte didn't want to touch either of them. They hurt too much right now.

She hurt too much right now.

"Do you have epilepsy or something?" Dean asked. "Asthma, maybe?"

"What?" Charlotte's head whipped to look at him, as she sank back against Sam. "No."

"You looked pretty bad." The older Winchester frowned. "Like you were having a seizure." Dean looked at his younger brother again. "Think we should take her to an emergency room?"

"No." Charlotte was sick of emergency rooms. She was sick of hospitals. She just wanted to go. "I'm fine now." This time she did grab Dean's hand, breathless. Waiting for the tingling at the base of her neck, to be flung apart by the little boy inside who could not be denied – but all she felt was some incredulity from Sam and annoyance from Dean. "No hospitals!"

Dean helped Charlotte to her feet, hazel eyes watching her critically as she looked up at him. "You're acting like your old self. That's as good a sign as any." And he grinned at her.

"My being bitchy is a good sign?" she asked, returning his grin.

Dean shrugged. "Hey, you said it, Charlie. Not me."

Sam chuckled. "Bet he's not looking so cute now." He used the handle on the back door of the Impala to stand. They hadn't taken her far – probably just dragged her out the back and onto the ground.

"That whole cute thing applied to both of you, Sam Winchester." Charlotte's mouth twisted; her head still hurt, and the thought of walking the three feet between herself and the door made her leg ache. She shuffled to the back door, wishing someone had remembered her crutches – and realizing that was stupid. "You've never seen me when I get really bitchy." She smiled sweetly at him. "And I've got crutches."

"Are you threatening me, Charlotte Webb?" Sam sounded incredulous.

"I've seen the poor excuses you two call practical jokes," Charlotte countered. _I am going to regret this._ But she had to help him somehow, besides teaching him how to meditate. Charlotte sniffed, shaking her head. "I bet you've even used that old Nair in the shampoo routine."

"That was Dean."

"Then it's a good thing I'm not challenging him, then, isn't it? Or else I'd be the Bald Book Bag Avenger." She folded her arms in front of her chest. "No Nair. Deal?"

"Deal. You are so on!" Sam was leaning against the car, holding himself up while he laughed. "I'm taking you down." Charlotte found herself smiling – he still had circles underneath his eyes, and his skin was as pale as the first night she saw him in a rain swept parking lot, but Sam Winchester was laughing like she'd never seen him laugh before.

And that made Dean Winchester smile.

Charlotte could only shake her head, pulling on the handle and scooting herself backwards against the duffel bag in the back seat. _Please, God, don't make me lose my hair._ But it might even be worth it if it kept Sam Winchester smiling. Sam waited until she was settled, and then shut the door for her. Dean was already sliding into the front seat behind the driver's wheel, looked at her over his shoulder. "Thanks," he said softly.

"For what?"

"Giving him something else to think about." His eyes in the rear-view mirror looked like he was going to say more, but then Sam was opening up the passenger door. Dean coughed, and turned the key in the ignition.

The Impala's motor roared.

Hazel eyes flickered into the rear-view mirror to look at her. Sam was staring happily out the window, with another grin on his face. Charlotte's eyes met Dean's in the mirror, and then he looked back towards the road. It was almost like he knew. _The white altar_. She stared out her own window, watching the trees fly by as Dean drove. Biting her thumbnail while she went over the images in her mind again – the shattered body, the icy voice. _The other, blowing through her._

Charlotte leaned her head back against the duffel bag, staring up towards the roof of the Impala. Dean was still listening to Led Zeppelin, the bass so loud in the car that it rattled through her hip bones. It was enough to fight off the lassitude that swept through her, keeping her awake despite her body's stubborn yearning for sleep. _And the next inevitable vision._ She held onto that backbeat with everything she could muster, even singing along with the songs while Dean drove and the sun went down behind them.

"You really can't sing," Sam said, his voice breaking into her thoughts.

"Be nice, Sammy. The girl knows Zeppelin." Dean sounded impressed.

Charlotte pulled her arms around herself and shivered. The jerk of that snap was a scream rumbling through her – how it felt to lose him as he fell. _Farther and faster than they had ever fallen in dreams. _Her eyes flickered towards the back of his head. He wasn't ready. He was oblivious, head bouncing a little to the beat as he pointed his car towards Madison. A sign outside the window said they had about ten miles to go, and she could already feel his excitement. There was a bar in Madison. He hadn't picked up a chick since… Charlotte blushed, her rebellious brain finishing the thought for her.

_Since me._

Dean Winchester was going to be the death of her. If the Circle didn't find her first – or the demon inside finally yielded to the charms of Shemhezai. And here she was getting Called by a mind-bashing vision in the very same place she got screwed to begin with, his ring cold against the hand that burned on her thigh. She placed one hand at her waist, remembering the way his fingers brushed her stomach as he removed her shirt. Light against the scars. Called for him. Again. How many times would she need to be laid flat before she listened?

She should never have agreed to help him in the first place – help save his doomed little brother. Charlotte should have forced herself on a bus – any bus – because being away from them, anywhere, was better than sitting in the back seat realizing that her secrets could kill them. She'd given them the notes. She had even given them the sword. They were smart boys. They would have figured it out. Winchester boys were clever.

_How can you be so proud, when you're sinking into the ground?_

Charlotte glanced at Sam. He was sitting with his elbow on the window, still looking at the scenery with that goofy grin on his face. Sam had saved her. Still wanted to help her with a demon crawling around in his belly, whittling him out from the inside. Sam Winchester would still be fighting the day Shemhezai stole his last breath.

And Dean. _Here's the thing, Charlie. I want to trust you. _He'd risk everything for Sam. Even himself. Even his soul. No one would ever do that for her, not in the whole wide world, but she had found someone who loved – and loved unconditionally – because it was the right thing to do. It was how Dean Winchester was made – a little boy who carried his baby brother out of a burning building. Jacob used to tell her that love was the one power that could not be denied.

_The only thing you can do, when faced with the strength of love's purity, is stand with it._

She just never knew that rule applied to her.

_Only one way to find out, Charlie. _

Charlotte took a deep breath, steadying herself before speaking. "I've been having nightmares about the Circle finding us."

The Winchesters didn't say anything to that, although Sam shifted in the passenger seat to begin staring at her – instead of out the window. And the goofy grin was gone, replaced by something else.

Madison was three miles away.

"And when Alex finds us, I'll be the first one he kills."

Dean chuckled at that. "I'm the one who kept bashing his head in. I'm guessing you're going to have to stand in line, Charlie."

"You better pull over, Dean." Because what Charlotte Webb was going to tell them was the biggest secret of all. Almost two miles out of city limits. "I'm serious," she added. Fear was bouncing off of him again, orange sparks. Sam just looked concerned, like he wanted to hear what she had to say. _Which is the saddest thing of all._ At least she'd be able to walk the two miles into town and hope she could find a bus station somewhere in the Yellow Pages. And maybe some passerby might take pity on a girl walking on crutches.

"I'm not pulling over this close to town." Dean looked into the rear-view mirror, caught a glimpse of her face and frowned. "But I'll see what we can do about getting you there faster. You look like you need to lie down." And the Impala suddenly burst down the highway with another scraping growl, Led Zeppelin bellowing out its open windows.

No sooner had they crossed the line into city limits, a whooping sound erupted behind them followed by a flashing light. "Crap," Sam muttered. Dean's shoulders tightened, a little anxious. "What if that guy put out a missing person's report," the younger Winchester added. _For me._

"We just need to ride this out," Dean returned. "You all right back there, Charlie?"

"I'm not sick, Dean. There's just something I need to tell you." She sighed. _When you're not driving a car._

He grunted, pulling the Impala up onto the shoulder, and rolled down his window. Sam had already turned down the stereo, the music a low rumble. "Good evening, officer." Dean Winchester had turned on the charm – even for a balding cop in his forties. "What can we do for you this fine evening?" He was already handing his wallet and registration out the window.

The police officer peered into the car with a flashlight. Charlotte felt the disdain when he saw Dean – wearing that leather jacket – and heard the Zeppelin grumbling underneath Dean's greeting. She reached out with a tendril, felt the disgust intermingled with a need to prove his superiority. The desire to bully. "You were speeding, son." The police officer chuckled, a slow drawl. "You two don't look like boys who follow the rules. And we don't like boys who don't play by the rules."

They had been pulled over by a good old boy.

And Dean Winchester was about as subtle as a jackhammer when his back was pushed up against the wall.

Charlotte broke out the officer's cadence into its phonetic components, and smiled. Language was nothing more than sounds, on its most primal level – understand the sounds, the way they fit together, and you could speak the language. And the blood of Armaros, one who led choirs of angels in song, flowed within her. She had to trust them. She had to. Her secrets could get them killed.

But her gift could help them.

"These boys are my good Samaritans, officer." Charlotte said softly from the back seat, matching his cadence with her own. One small tendril, soothing the distrust. Another, making her vulnerable in his eyes as he flashed the light in the backseat and took a good look at her. "They found me off old Peachtree road, and were kind enough to take me into town so I could call my folks. Going home on spring break, sir."

"We got a little enthusiastic," Sam added, glancing back at her with round eyes.

Dean nodded. "Didn't want her folks to worry." His voice was steadier than his brother's, but fear was sparking through him in brighter flashes of orange than she'd seen earlier. He didn't trust her. He was afraid of her. The gift that could pull his worst nightmare out of himself, the brush of her against him as the tendrils reached for their target.

The officer huffed. Shoulder's dropped. Distrust had been replaced by something else – a little disbelief, maybe some yearning. Charlotte pulled the tendrils back behind her shields, taking care not to touch Dean with them. "Well, see that you take it slow from here on out. This little lady needs to get home in one piece." And the officer handed Dean's things back to him through the window, shuffling back to his car and whistling to himself.

"What the hell was that?" Sam yelped as Dean rolled up the window.

"Her mojo," Dean replied, watching the police car pull out from behind them. The sparks were slower now, shifting underneath him. But he still sounded uneasy. _Distrustful._

"Your mojo lets you do that accent thing from _Firefly_? That was cool!"

Charlotte smiled in spite of herself. There really was something in Sam Winchester that made you want to like him. An innocence that Shemhezai would never tarnish. "No," she replied. "The accent thing is because I'm a year out from my doctorate in linguistics." _And the fact that I'm related to an angel of sound. _Dean turned in his seat to look at her. "The mojo part was convincing the good officer that I was harmless, and you two were heroes."

"If you say the hero part was easy, I'm kicking you out of the car," Dean snapped. "Why shouldn't I kick you out of the car right now?"

"I thought you wanted to get into town before we did this," Charlotte returned.

"We're stopped now. Seems as good a time as any for a little chat."

"Don't be an idiot, Dean." Sam pitched his voice low. "If we don't move, that cop is going to get suspicious."

"I'll calm down when I'm good and ready to calm down, Sam. Charlie could be manipulating us the same way she manipulated that cop." More anger, now – reds and yellow glimmering along the length of his arms. Charlotte's heart stumbled; why was she still seeing his emotions? How could she even tell him that without scaring him, let alone what she was going to say.

"Sam would never know," she said softly. "But you would, Dean. You have the same gift." Charlotte clutched her hands into fists, feeling the prick of the nail against the soft skin underneath. He didn't say anything to that, just pulled the car onto the road like his little brother had told him to do. "And I promise. I'll tell you everything in the motel. If you want me to leave afterwards, I will."

Dean growled. "_You?_ Hiding something from us?" Charlotte lowered her head. _I am putting you down like a dog._

"About me," she said softly. Which meant nothing to either of them.

Dean kept his eyes on the road, the clench of his shoulders hard against the front seat. Sam looked apologetically back at her, shrugged his shoulders – until Dean's gaze snapped on him and Sam shifted to stare out his window. Charlotte knew better than to say anything; antagonizing Dean wouldn't help. Neither would putting Sam on the defensive for trying to protect her; he thought she was worth saving.

Dean obviously didn't.

Twenty minutes later, she was shuffling up a flight of stairs to another second story room while Sam walked beside her with her duffel bag and the mandolin. Dean had already gone up to the room, and the expression on his face when he realized Sam was carrying her things made Charlotte want to turn around and start running. Again. Dean was really going to do it. Just like she had asked him to. She swallowed, walked past Dean into the room. Sam gave her a brief smile as he sat down on the nearest bed.

Charlotte took the bed closest to the back wall, her crutches accidentally falling off as she tried to boost herself up onto the bed. Dean usually helped her, but he was calmly moving to sit right across from her on the bed. _A front row seat._ Sam had grabbed a phone book off the table, and was rifling through its pages while she and Dean just stared at each other.

"I'm listening." And Dean watched her like he had just issued a challenge. "Enlighten us, Charlotte Webb." _Not even a stupid nickname._

"Did you ever wonder why Alex Masters hates me?" It was a simple question.

"Easy," Sam said. "You betrayed the Circle." Even Sam was looking at her like this was old news.

"My father betrayed the Circle." Charlotte took a deep breath. "And my mother betrayed him." She was not going to cry. She had no reason to feel sorry for herself, because this was the truth. No matter which side you stood, Charlotte Anne Webb was a traitor. "She betrayed all of them," she added. "The ones who tried to break the prophecy."

"Break the prophecy?" Dean's eyes glittered at her.

"You can't break a prophecy," Sam said, and she could feel the sadness inside of him. "They don't exactly have time tables, but events need to progress a certain way. As they're foretold." _Where does he learn these things?_

"My father tried. For the children. We were supposed to save the world. Not break it." She was biting her thumbnail again, staring at her shoe. Biting so hard she tasted blood in her mouth. Charlotte pulled up every shield she could muster, so she wouldn't have to feel what was coming out of either of them. But she could still see the orange sparking off of Dean, the reds and purples flowing through him. "So Azazeal tracked the children down and began killing their parents. To get us back."

"To make warriors like Alex Masters," Dean said. Sam was still rustling through the phone book.

Charlotte nodded. "Some they took back, others they left to be broken."

"Like Max." It was Sam. And she would have sworn there were tears unshed in Sam Winchester's eyes if she could only bring herself to look at them. Jacob's faith in him was not misplaced. She believed that now.

"One they broke and then took back." Charlotte stared at her shoe again. "And two of them had a father named John Winchester. Your father is a legend. There's an entire archive devoted to his exploits – the people he saved, the plans he thwarted. And those who fight with him. Completely outside of the Circle. Not one gift between any of them, and they're still God's Warriors. More true than any of us." She smiled at the pride she felt swelling in Dean's chest, the awe in Sam's lanky frame. "Jacob tried finding him first. To warn him. The Circle knew he was closing in on Azazeal, and the Circle always protects its secrets."

"We found you first." She laughed softly. "I should have known it was another test when I was assigned to the mission."

"See, that's what I don't get." Dean's impatience underscored by orange sparks shooting through her. "Why send you?"

"Dean." Sam sounded annoyed.

"I've been tested my entire life. My father was the last one they found." She swallowed again. "I woke up because I felt him dying. And all I wanted to do was save him. I thought if I could find him, I could save him. But I found the burning woman instead, and she held onto me and they made me watch. The burning woman and the man who laughed. As he died." Charlotte glanced at them both. "Because I tried to save him, I was disloyal."

"Charlotte…" Sam's voice trailed off.

"Oh, that's not the worst part." Charlotte laughed, a sullen little sound, and pulled her arms around herself. "The worst part was how they felt. They enjoyed it. Watching my father burn on the ceiling. Making me watch. And it hurt. Even the shadow of that memory still hurts." She did finally cry at that, soft tears that fell without a sound. "My mother watched my father die, and the thing inside of her laughed while he burned. Laughed while I burned with him."

There it was. Even Jacob never knew.

"Your mother was Azazeal's host?" Dean's voice was soft. Tense. _Angry_. Charlotte felt the spear of it inside her own belly, twisting her insides with the vengeance of a son who got up every morning ready to deal payback on the monsters that tore his family apart. And he was sitting in a motel room with the daughter of the woman who carried the demon – the demon that threw his mother up on a ceiling, ripped open her stomach and burned her. While he felt her die.

"Yes." It was all that Charlotte could say. But she wanted to touch his hand, curled on the bed so close she could just slide her hand next to his. Dean Winchester leaned forward and looked at her, looked at her with the eyes of a son who lost his mother. His skin so pale she could see the freckles outlined across his face. "That's why I…" Her voice trailed off. "Penance," she added. Maybe he'd understand. "She wasn't the only one. Azazeal has too much power for one person to wield, burns them up from the inside."

"Christ," Dean muttered.

"That's why you wanted to run." It was Sam who spoke. "When you saved Dean, when you gave me the notes, you knew they'd kill you. Because of your father. And you did it anyway."

"I'm not my mother's daughter. I just couldn't sit by and watch the world die. So I came up with a stupid plan." She sounded too defensive, didn't care. Shook her head. "I'm not my father's daughter, either. I've wanted to leave the moment your brother knocked Alex Masters out in a parking lot. My father would have stayed to fight."

Sam snorted. "If you really wanted to leave, you'd be gone by now." Charlotte saw his grin. "How many chances did you have in the last ten days?"

"For a smart girl, you sure are stupid." And the way Dean Winchester said it, Charlotte knew he thought she was a moron for not even figuring out this apparently simple thing about herself. "You think Sammy and I haven't wanted to run away at least once in our lives?" He chuckled. "Well, more than once in Sam's case. He was going through this emo phase when he was sixteen, and nothing we ever did was good –"

"Dean!" Sam snapped. "She gets the point."

"And you didn't have to tell us all this," Dean continued. "I know I got angry, but I thought – " He actually smiled at her. Defenseless. "I thought you were hiding something that could hurt Sam." His head was shaking. "Jesus, Charlie. You were six? And you ran through a burning house to find your dad." It might be the closest thing to an apology Dean Winchester would ever give her.

Charlotte didn't realize she'd been holding her breath until she exhaled. "I _did_ have to tell you all this," she countered. "Fair is fair." Dean gave her a funny look. _But please, God, don't make me say why. _

For once, God listened.

The younger Winchester was still looking through the Yellow Pages. "So do you eat pasta the same way you eat eggs?" Sam asked, chuckling a little. "Like a freak? Because I'm feeling like pasta."

"How does a freak eat spaghetti, Sammy?"

"They do that whole twirling it in the spoon thing."

Dean snorted. "Slept with a girl once who did the whole twirling it in the spoon thing."

"Claymation!" Charlotte yelped. It was instinct, pulling up the Gypsy Rules. _If you must visualize, always remember: Claymation!_ Maybe she'd even tell the Winchesters all of them one day, the way that Jimmy had told her. Or the baseball bat rule; Dean might actually agree with it. "But I can do the whole twirling it in a spoon thing. My best friend Jimmy is Italian."

"Did you just say Claymation?" Dean asked. "Don't tell me, Freakazoid, because I don't want to know."

Sam poked at the book triumphantly. "Hey, they do have an Italian restaurant!"

"You want to get spaghetti in _Georgia_? Their meatballs probably blow." Dean shook his head. "Why don't you ever want spaghetti when we're near Chicago, you little freak?"

"Yeah," Sam retorted. "I'm as freaky as the guy who admits he slept with a girl who did the whole twirling it in the spoon thing. What the hell is that exactly?"

"Dean Winchester doesn't twirl and tell," the older Winchester replied. "But if I'm a freak and you're a freak, Sammy, that makes Charlie just like us."

"A freak?" Charlotte chuckled. "I'm beginning to figure that out. I'm actually following your conversations now."

"No, you little idiot," Dean replied, looking her right in the eye. "Brave."

"Just a little out of practice," Sam added.

"Oh." And she wished that they were still in the car, because then they both wouldn't have seen her suddenly grinning like an idiot and trying not to cry at the same time. She covered her face with her hands, shoulders shaking.

"Sammy, you broke Charlie!"

"He had help," Charlotte replied, removing her hands. Wiping the tears away quickly. No chick flick moments for Mr. Dean Winchester – ten days had taught her that. "Emo Boy," she grinned. The look on Dean's face was worth it. The whole conversation, some weird rite of passage that only the Winchesters understood, was worth it. Maybe Sam would tell her what the conversation meant some day. If she asked him, maybe he would. Charlotte smiled. "After dinner, can we go save my cow?"

Sam raised an eyebrow. "You _want_ to go on a stakeout."

"I promised your brother I would help him." She raised her chin, and Dean was suddenly grinning at her. Charlotte blushed even harder than she had before, lowering her head. "And it would be nice to know that I can take care of myself." She didn't add that she'd never really done that before – even in college, everything was paid for her; even now, she was traveling with the Winchesters. Charlotte Webb was totally unprepared for the realities of living outside of the Circle of Enoch. Her great plan had never encompassed the reality of her dream. "Besides, how hard can it be? We're sitting on a roof staring at a church with binoculars."

"That vision thing still bothers me," Dean returned dubiously, concern on his face before the mask dropped. "Maybe you should rest."

"No way. Dinner first, though." She glanced at Sam. "Where's that pasta place?"

"Got a map," Sam replied, pulling out the page.

"You're serious about this, Charlie?" Dean rubbed his cheek with closed knuckles, caught her eyes with his own.

"I promised you." Charlotte held out her hand. "Help me up, Dean. I have a cow to save and one bad dream in the back of your crap car isn't going to stop me." He looked like he was going to say something to that, cocky grin slowly spreading across his face. "And if you start calling me Cowgirl, so help me God, I will do something so fiendishly clever to you that it cannot possibly be described," she added.

"When you figure out what that is, sweetheart, let me know and I'll start shivering in my shoes."

But Dean took her hand, and helped her to her feet.

* * *

A/N:

No cows were harmed during the writing of this chapter.

There was a mild _Firefly_ reference, to the scene where River uses Badger's accent. But it's also a mild homage to _My Fair Lady_, as Professor Higgins is always transcribing language phonetically; somewhat over the top without a notebook, but I figured Charlotte is related to an angel of sound.

The title is a song by The Cure.

Didn't like it? Let me know — I won't get any better without it. Did the boys seem off to you? I can fix it if you tell me. The story is finally here; Charlotte's past being the missing piece. Ready for gargoyle hunting? So am I. And if you liked it, a little note saying so would be likewise greatly appreciated.


	8. Don't Turn Your Back

This is set sometime after the end of Season 1. While it doesn't break canon to my knowledge, it is definitely AU. The Winchesters have made it to Madison, GA – a small town plagued by gargoyles. The boys decide that Charlie's going on her first stakeout, but Dean's the one who is going to get the biggest surprise.

* * *

Disclaimer: The Winchester boys aren't mine. The Colt isn't mine. Wish the car was mine. But I can only blame myself for the Circle of Enoch.

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Charlotte Webb, OFC (Arlene)

Rating: PG-13 ( Mild sexual situation. Some bad language.)

Summary: Visions suck more than just rocks.

Feedback: Absolutely!

Miscellaneous: As always, this would not have been possible without the brilliance of JMM0001, who rightly called me on every loose point and OOC action – pulling an otherwise coherent plot out of this week's very dizzy brain. (Having not learned my lesson about writing when sick.) Much thanks to wenchpixie, who listens to my meta conversations and for putting the Charlie back into Charlotte Webb. (See comment about dizzy brain.) Both acted as my betas for this chapter. As always, the good parts are because of them. The bad parts are all me. I also owe a debt to pheebs1, who held my hand and listened to my proposed plot changes entirely too early for someone like me to be thinking properly.

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**Chapter Seven: Don't Turn Your Back**

Practical jokes required a combination of brilliance and finesse, sprinkled with divine inspiration and perpetrated with a master's sense of timing – but all that meant nothing without the balls to pull them off.

Charlotte Webb was going to have to grow a pair if she wanted a shot at besting Sammy. Dean almost felt sorry for her when he realized what she was doing, half-dazed from whatever goddamn vision knocked her flat on her ass but trying like hell to help Sam any way she could. He should have figured the girl with the chick flick gift would realize that Sam Winchester was part prankster; Dean just never figured Charlie would actually try to take Sam on less than two weeks on the road. That whole phony prank call had just been lame. Especially when she called Dean's cell phone first.

His little brother had learned how to pull off a practical joke from the same men who taught him advanced combat techniques and the fine art of picking up high school chicks. Years on the road had fine-tuned Sam's natural abilities; he developed the knack just to survive an eight hour stretch across a barren highway. Practical jokes helped to pass the time, kept the boys on their toes without endangering their lives. Leave it to John Winchester to turn a practical joke into a practical lesson.

When Sam went to Stanford, even the pranks weren't enough to fill the silences. Dad retreated to some place that Dean could never follow, quiet and angry and completely unwilling to bend. The Winchesters were broken – Dean could always see that. It was why he tried so goddamn hard to fix them, why he always stood between Sam's anger and Dad's rage, interpreting father for the son and son for the father. Why he picked up Sam after Dad went missing. Sam would never know how much that hurt to ask, even though Sam was only there because of Jess; because some goddamn fallen angel threw her up on a ceiling. Not a day went by where Dean didn't feel guilt for that; an innocent girl, a beautiful girl, was dead – but, God, how he had missed his little brother.

Before Stanford, practical jokes had kept them together, or maybe it was just what the practical jokes meant. Solidarity. The Winchesters were a team. They fought – at each other's sides, with each other. Being a Winchester made you a fighter. But they laughed together, too – at dumb jokes, or stupid movies like _The Surf Ninjas_. The laughing mattered just as much as the fighting. Maybe even more.

Dean always knew the laughing mattered, like in Texas – when he was taking a picture of Sam with a spoon in his mouth like Stanford had never happened. They were brothers. Family. Not even a goddamn demon could take that away from them. Just took awhile to get to the point where they both saw family as a possibility again. It hurt like hell that Sam didn't see it the same way. _Dean, we are a family. I'd do anything for you. But things will never be the way they were before._

And now some evil bastard had set up housekeeping in Sammy's body and his little brother was never going to be the same again. Sam thought he was playing it cool, hiding how he felt. Just like a Winchester. But even Charlie had seen enough of what Sam used to be, what Sam was trying so hard to hang onto, to set herself up for a world of hurt and humiliation just to make Sam feel like himself. Just to give his little brother a sense of something beyond the demon inside.

And Dean was going to help her.

It wasn't completely about Shemhezai. There was still that moment in Texas when Dean realized he had a beer bottle super-glued to his hand, when he knew that Sam had been nursing that old grudge from his sixteenth birthday. Dean hadn't even seen the beer bottle coming; hell, hadn't even felt the glue on the side. So Dean reluctantly allowed Sam time to revel in his victory – at least until the skin on his palm grew back. Time brought with it the need for revenge, served up cold and completely unexpected.

Revenge, like practical jokes, was all about timing.

It was Sam's fault, anyway. Bringing them to some pasta place that looked like it was from _The_ _Godfather_. Dean's plan was going to kill two birds with one stone. Teach Sam that his older brother was still the master, and maybe make amends with the girl. _Penance. _Dean knew what that meant, even if she didn't explain it. _A boy, and a fire, and the baby in his arms._ The girl he swore to kill the moment he thought there was a monster inside of her. The girl who dropped inside of him like a stone. The girl who knew that Dean Winchester was four years old where it mattered most.

But she'd never told Sam. Dean knew that now, as surely as he knew anything. Part of him still didn't trust Charlie, worried about what other secrets she was hiding. _And whether they'll come back to bite us in the ass. _But not telling Sam counted for something. And then talking about her dad. _My mother watched my father die, and the thing inside of her laughed while he burned. Laughed while I burned with him._ That counted for something, too. Charlie just opened up, and Dean couldn't even put a finger on it as to why. All he knew is that she was telling the truth, could sense it as easily as he breathed; which meant they had something in common – something so fucked up they were both screwed. But it was something.

Dean figured he'd meet Charlie halfway and see what happened. He might even be wrong about her. Stranger things had happened. _A hell of a lot stranger._

He made the decision while watching Sam liberally sprinkle sugar over Charlie's spaghetti and meatballs. The redhead had excused herself from the table to 'freshen up' – and damn if Charlie hadn't actually said it that way. _Better manners than us._ She managed to drip tomato sauce on her shirt at least three times that Dean counted before Charlie realized what had happened. Lucky for Dean, though, she didn't attempt to twirl her pasta in the spoon; he was sitting right next to her.

Sammy had stopped grinning like a maniac by the time Charlie came back to the table, red splotches on her white shirt reduced to light orange stains, but she stared at his little brother warily – pointedly looking at Dean to pull out her chair. She smiled at Dean after he dragged out her chair and sat down, setting her crutches next to her against the wall.

Sam exploded with laughter when she took her first bite – Charlie's face screwed up to the point where she was unrecognizable, and she let loose with a little gagging noise. She managed to get a glass of water – probably Sam's, which almost served him right – but not before pushing off the little plate of herbs and olive oil the waiter had set on the table. Right in Sam's lap.

"Shit!" Sam yelped, jumping to his feet. A slick stain covered his crotch. Dean snorted. _I'm never sitting across from her, even if my life depends on it._ Blue-green eyes narrowed, glaring at him. "Don't say a fucking word, Dean," his little brother added with a menacing growl.

Dean was already pulling his cell phone out of his pocket to take a picture. "At least you kept it in your pants," Dean said, lining up for the shot.

"I'm really sorry, Sam." Charlie's voice was soft. "It was an accident."

"I know." Sam smiled at her, before realizing what Dean was doing with his cell phone. "So help me God, Dean!" Sam made as if to charge him and grab the phone, and then thought better of it – rushing out of the dining room. _Probably straight to the john._

Dean heard the laughter of several patrons in Sam's wake. Charlie was bright red, sipping from her glass of water, and he shook his head at her. "I'm beginning to think that take-out and the motel is the best plan for eating with you, Charlie. You're still going to get food all over us, but at least the bathroom is only five feet away."

"I'm a food klutz." She set her glass of water down on the table, and it sloshed over her hand. Charlie frowned, grabbing for her napkin. It had fallen off her lap, and she leaned down to pick it up off the floor.

"No shit!" Dean couldn't help but grin – it was the world's biggest understatement. Charlie bumped her head lightly on the table as she tried to sit back up, a muffled 'ouch' greeting him before her head reappeared from underneath the table. "You okay, Girl Genius?"

"Apart from a perpetual state of embarrassment?" Charlie asked with a small smile. More patrons were watching them, and a girl at the table next to them was giggling. "Some days I really miss the library," the red-head muttered. "Books don't stare." She wiped the water off her hand and put the napkin back in her lap. "But _you_ were brilliant! Pretending to take his picture? I thought I was going to die."

"See, I'm thinking you just need to learn how to seize the moment. You're as smart as Sammy. We can use that to our advantage." The words were out of Dean's mouth before he could stop them. "And I took the picture so we could talk. Well, that and the fact that Sam looked just like he – " The look on her face made him stop and just grin at her.

"You actually _took_ the picture?" Charlie was stunned. Dean nodded. Gray eyes narrowed. "And did you just say we?" she asked.

"I'm your ace in the hole," Dean replied. "If you want to get Sammy, you're going to need help from someone who knows his habits." He pulled out the drawl no woman ever refused. "And you know you need my help."

Her brow furrowed, and Charlie started chewing on her thumbnail. "I do need the help. And you're one sneaky bastard." The redhead smiled at him suddenly, a look so mischievous that Dean found himself wishing she was playful more often; God knew the girl could be serious, between proclamations of doom and tortured confessions, listening to that Goth crap she pulled up on her iPod when they were traveling.

"Thanks," Dean said wryly.

Charlie looked like she was going to say something else, but her eyes suddenly clouded over and color drained from her face. She turned quickly in her seat, like she was looking for something, and then trembled.

"You okay?"

"No. Someone is – " She leaned forward and placed her forehead in her hands. "Scared and angry." Charlie turned in her chair, eyes focused, and gestured with her head where a couple was hunched over a table. The woman sitting there was crying, shaking her head. "I wish I could help," Charlie added, "But I just can't walk over there and say how terribly sorry I am that she's so upset." She flexed her hands at her sides, took a deep breath. "That one hurt." Gray eyes flickered at him, and Charlie looked like she had said more than she intended; Dean could feel it inside of her, the fear that she had said too much. "Nothing like a random drive-by during dinner," Charlie added. She was still pale. "Couldn't you sense it?"

"Hell, no." Dean felt sick – the fact that Charlie could pick up on feelings, that sometimes it just happened, was like a punch in the stomach. He didn't know how that should scare him. "Does that happen all the time?" he asked softly.

"It depends." Charlie grimaced, and then she looked him right in the eyes. "It's like being in a room full of open windows when the wind is blowing. Most curtains are heavy, some not so much – but every once in awhile, when the wind is strong, it pushes the curtains open and I can see outside. Only while the wind is blowing, and sometimes it blows stronger than others." Charlie's voice broke a little at that, and she tried to mask it with a cough – but her eyes. Charlie looked just the way she did at Alfie's when she mentioned her dad. "And I can pull open the curtains when I need to, but that requires me to touch people," she added. "It's worse when I physically touch them."

Dean didn't want to know the distinction. It was bad enough that he was a walking chick flick – he didn't want to understand how the damn thing worked. He covered by taking a sip from his beer, and then grinned at her. "So knocking me over must have really sucked."

"Could have been worse," Charlie replied lightly, looking down at her plate.

"How?" Dean didn't want to know the answer, but the question ripped itself out of him. _It's worse when I physically touch them. _He figured the back of the Impala qualified. What part of him hadn't touched her? Maybe his feet. Sometimes, when he closed his eyes, Dean could still smell her.

Charlie had the grace to look chagrined, still staring at her sugar-covered spaghetti, but she didn't say anything. Dean snorted. Looked like neither one of them was going there. They didn't have much time, anyway. "So, do you want my help or not?" he asked. "This is a one-time offer, Charlie. I'll teach you everything I know so you can take Sam down. I might even make you swear by the code."

"There's a code?" Her eyes widened, until Charlie saw his grin. "This is where you tell me it's set of guidelines, right? Did you forget that _you_ made me watch _Pirates of the Caribbean _after you caught me watching _Amelie_?"

"Just making sure you were actually watching, sweetheart."

"Sometimes you are the world's biggest prick, Dean Winchester."

"Only sometimes? I must not be trying hard enough."

"You're growing on me. Like a fungus, only marginally more self-aware." Charlie returned his grin. They could both hear Sam's voice as he walked back into the dining room. Someone had given him a white apron, like the waiters wore, to cover up the spill. "But I get the feeling there's a bigger story here you're not telling me," she added.

"Still waiting to hear that answer." _And ignoring that comment about feeling. _Dean chuckled. "You're just lucky I'm helping a chick who called me a spore."

Charlie laughed outright at that – and it was almost a belly laugh. Dean couldn't help but laugh with her. "I am going to have to be nicer to you now that you're helping me," she said before spearing one of Sam's meatballs off his plate. He raised an eyebrow. "That's a yes, Dean." She took a delicate bite, snickering when someone tried to flag Sam to their table. "That smug bastard's going down," she added. Charlie suddenly blushed. "And, thank you for listening to me. About…" Her voice trailed off, but her eyes were shiny.

"That whole curtain thing?"

She nodded, almost touching him on the arm. "I'm not used to trusting people. I'm always waiting for the second shoe to drop."

"You're not going to try and hug me or anything, are you?" Most of the time, Dean was able to forget that Charlie was a chick – apart from the obvious; like when she bent over to pick something up and you could see down her shirt. Even Sam watched her. She usually didn't act like a chick, either – at least not like the girls he picked up in bars; which was pretty much Dean Winchester's standard of comparison. And then she would do something so completely girly, Dean wanted to get up and leave; like making them watch _Scrubs_ at night instead of _MacGuyver_. He coughed. "Just kick Sam's ass, and we're square."

Charlie surprised him – smiled that shy smile she had flashed earlier back at the room. _Never saw a girl smile so much after being called a freak._ "Louis, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship," she said, so softly Dean had to lean towards her just to hear. _What the fuck?_ Charlie folded her hands in her lap, caught the look on his face. "You've never seen _Casablanca_?" she asked.

"Nope."

"You should watch it some time," Charlie replied as Sam came into earshot. "_Casablanca_ is a really good movie."

"That would require Dean to watch movies that are in black and white," Sam interjected, with that same shit-eating grin he always got on his face. His brother's lanky form slid easily into his chair, and he looked like nothing had happened. "And I'm pretty sure the romantic subplot qualifies as a chick flick in Dean's book."

"Why don't you see if you can scrounge us up a dessert menu, Geek Boy?" Dean snapped. "And I've watched black and white flicks."

"Yeah?" Sam raised his eyebrows. "Name one."

"_Godzilla_," Dean returned.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Godzilla movies don't count!"

"Why not?" Charlie's question interrupted Dean's retort – he exhaled as Sam did a double-take. "_Gojiro_ is a classic. Ishiro Honda was a second-unit director on many of Akira Kurosawa's films."

"Yeah," Dean added, cocking his head towards the redhead. "What Charlie said." _Beautiful friendship, huh?_ Now that would be a joke. Him. Friends with a chick. Dean Winchester screwed the pooch when it came to being friends with a chick. Hell, he screwed the chick.

"I think there was crack in the sugar," Sam muttered. "And you don't even know who the hell Akira Kurosawa is, Dean."

"Wasn't he the kid buried underneath the stadium?" Dean grinned. Sam was pissed. "You aren't going all Tetsuo on my ass, now, are you? Crazy psychic powers and all."

Charlie's eyes widened at that, and she tried to shake her head imperceptibly. But Sam just chuckled. "You asshole." He leaned forward in his chair, picking up his own bottle of beer. His little brother glanced at his watch. "It's about 8:30. We should probably head out to get set up," Sam said.

"I figure we can have you in place by 9:00," Dean replied, nodding. "Charlie should be able to get up those stairs we saw off the alley." He resisted the urge to poke her arm for emphasis. "Even on her crutches. It's not like there's any food that could get in the way."

"I have a candy bar in my purse," Charlie retorted.

"Oh no." Dean did poke her that time, couldn't help himself. Charlie didn't even flinch. "The plan is doomed," he added.

"And Dean can be getting laid by 10:00," Sam added, as though it were an important part of the plan. His little brother chuckled. Dean scratched his ear, glancing at Charlie sideways. _What the hell are you playing at, Sammy? _"It's a small town. I'd expect nothing less of you," Sam added, cocking his head. "Maybe 10:30, if it's a slow night and the bar isn't packed."

"Well, maybe if there's time," Dean qualified dubiously, trying to avoid the glance Charlie gave him. He was going to get laid sooner or later, anyway. "I'm going to that bar to work on the job," Dean added. Sam snorted, and Charlie turned to his little brother. Sam grinned at her like a moron. Charlie looked annoyed, frowning. Dean caught the scent of strawberries as her hair swirled around her shoulders.

They didn't say much after that – Sam flagged down the waiter and got the bill. Charlie excused herself once they turned in the credit card, telling them that she'd meet them in the foyer. Dean suspected she was going to the restroom, but was too polite to mention it. _You'd think she grew up rich or something. _He snorted. Sam just looked at him, half-grinning. "What?" Dean snapped, standing up.

"Nothing. Just wondering how you knew about the stairs." Sam chuckled. "You really planned on dumping her with me."

"Not that you mind," Dean retorted. "Two geeks on a roof? Imagine all the nerdy mischief you could get into with her." _What the hell am I saying?_ Sex, Sam and Charlie was a one-way ticket to Armageddon, scars or no scars. "You know, looking at the constellations and seeing who can name more of them," Dean backtracked, feeling sick to his stomach. He saw Charlie waiting for them, leaning on her crutches. "Hey, you know any constellations, Charlie?" Dean called.

Charlie shook her head. "Is that a prerequisite for my Junior Hunter's badge?" she asked. Sam just burst out laughing at that.

"What kind of Girl Genius are you?" Dean asked, holding the door open for her.

She gave him a strange look. "A Girl Genius who can use proper noun declensions, Mr. Christo."

_Fuck me. _Dean didn't say anything to that, but Sam was still chuckling. His little brother followed Charlie out the door, raising an eyebrow at Dean as he passed. _And fuck you, too, Sammy_. Even with the new girl in the band, Dean Winchester was getting laid, he decided. It had been almost three weeks. The sex would help clear his mind, get him focused on the job. And maybe it would help him forget. Sammy. Demons. Angels. Maybe some space to breathe. For a little while. He was ready to explode like a firecracker with the right amount of pressure.

He unlocked the back door of the Impala, and waited while Charlie scooted herself backwards. Her face turned red when she tried to grab the door handle so she could close the door on her own, but couldn't reach it. She was always trying to do things on her own, like get on the bed without help or take a shower even when Charlie wasn't supposed to get her cast wet. _Or run away when the Circle of Enoch wants to kill her._

Charlotte Webb really did need a friend.

He poked his head into the back. "Hey, do you…" Dean's voice trailed off. The question died – he didn't even know what wanted to ask her. Gray eyes looked at him expectantly, a little puzzled. _Pull it out, Winchester._ "Do you want to sit in the front next time? More room for your leg. Sammy won't mind."

"We can change places now," Sam added.

"It's only a five minute drive back to the grocery store," Charlie replied. "But maybe when we leave town?"

"Sure." Dean closed the door and slid into the front seat. Within seconds, his baby's engine was purring.

Ten minutes later, Charlie and Sam were sitting on the roof of Peachin's General Store – one of those mom and pop grocery stores that was identical to every grocery store in every small town across the country. Dean had been in enough of them to know. They found a secluded spot near the store's sign, and both his little brother and the redhead were armed with a pair of night binoculars. When Dean turned to look at them on his way back down the stairs, Sam was kneeling behind Charlie – pointing her binoculars in the direction of the old Catholic church next door.

Time to get to work.

He passed the Impala and headed out of the alley where they'd parked it, secluded behind a dumpster but close enough to the stairs if a quick getaway was needed. _Joe's_ – the bar from the article – was just down the street. According to the newspaper article, some good old boys had wandered out of the bar a week ago and spotted the gargoyles. Been seeing them every night ever since, between 9:45 and 10:30. All Dean had to do was find one of them, and ask some questions.

Which was easier said than done. The bar was a pit, bad country music twanging off the jukebox in the corner. And mostly empty. There was a couple off necking near the bar – but between them, the bartender and the waitress, Dean was alone.

Dean walked to the jukebox, and scanned the selections. He pulled two quarters out of his pocket in the numbers. Maybe something decent to listen to would help lighten the mood.

_Don't turn your back – one chance to save her.  
Don't turn your back; keep her out of danger.  
Don't turn your back; she'll return the favor.  
She wants you so don't say no._

He sidled up to the nearest table, slid up onto the stool. Dean's grin caught the waitress unaware – she blushed. Her nametag – _Arlene_ – was pinned to the right side of her tank top. And she was cute, in a Daisy Duke kind of way – short shorts, skimpy top, high heels with the clunky soles. He'd almost forgotten what it was like to see a woman who wasn't wearing combat boots and had every square inch of her body covered from the neck to her ankles. Maybe his age, a couple of years older. Dean shrugged. What did it matter?

"Hey, there, sweetheart," he drawled as she came within hearing range. "Anything good on tap?"

"You're not from around here," Arlene stated. Her hair was a dusky blonde, and she smelled smoky – like she'd spent most of her life in the bar, soaking it up in her pores. It was a good smell. A familiar smell, of darts and beer; of girls who didn't dump ancient prophecies in your lap. And it reminded Dean of furtive couplings in bathroom stalls between shifts, or in an alley near where he would park the Impala.

Dean didn't want much. Just some time to forget who he was. Forget what he felt. Forget that his little brother was standing between everyone and the end of the world. His skin was vibrating with the need to just forget, to pound into someone until he was nothing but wanting.

And it didn't take long – twenty minutes later, Arlene was on break, giggling breathlessly as he pressed her against a brick wall near the Impala. She smelled musky. Hard and heavy with desire, her breath tasting like cigarettes. Arlene was inching his shirt out of his jeans, one hand dipping inside to brush against him. Dean groaned, moving lips down to her neck. Nipping. "Stop that," she whispered. "Don't need to eat me there." She laughed, low in her belly.

"You're the boss, sweetheart," Dean managed as a shooting pain twisted through his stomach. _What the fuck?_ Something slammed into his head, hard against the back of his skull, as white light flooded against the his eyelids. Something was reaching inside of him, pulling him apart. Something that hurt. Something that wouldn't be denied.

Dean screamed. The other sound he heard might have been Arlene, but it was hard to tell when his body was cracking against the pavement.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

_Death has fed here – the old tang of rust, bleached bones on the walls – and Death feeds here still. Salty and sweet against the wood, falling in small rivulets from her skin._

_The girl has dark eyes and no hope. She is tiny. Small. And the knives slice into her flesh, quivering still on its forks as Death feeds. Every slice should bring a scream, but the girl is stubborn. The girl chooses not to cry._

_A blue flicker across a cheekbone, a blue flash in her eyes._

_Death feeds on blessed flesh._

_Her only hope is that somehow, some way, Death will kill her. But this memory remains in her skin, throughout the night. Living, when she should have died – joining the bleached bones on the wall. Dying is her only wish. A little girl's prayer._

_"Help her."_

_A woman's voice, so long remembered. _

_And she is so small. His resolve cracks. No pain endured like this, no need so great as to help her. Not for the voice long remembered, but because she is one of them. A blue flicker across a cheekbone, a blue flash in her eyes._

_She is Beata._

_He will kill Death. For her. For all of them. He will take back their world. He will take back the world. He is Called and he is Chosen. He dies fighting. He fights in death. _

_"It's time."_

_The other's voice, soft within him. _

_It will save her. A blue flicker across a cheekbone, a blue flash in her eyes. So small. So frail. The girl who chooses not to cry. So brave. So tiny._

"_Come back to me."_

_And it will save him._

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

It wasn't the noise that Sam noticed first – it was Charlotte keeling over, bracing herself with her hands against the rough roof of the grocery store. She was looking through her binoculars, chatting about the library at Georgetown University; she'd just mentioned something about the stacks – right before she fell forward. The binoculars cracked against the roof. And then he heard a scream. A man's voice.

"Charlotte!" Sam was at her side faster than he could blink.

Charlotte shook her head. "Dean – " She tried to stand, grabbed for one of her crutches as she swayed on her feet. Charlotte toppled forward into Sam's arms with a whimper. "They hurt, Sam."

Sam didn't get a chance to ask the obvious question. There was a screeching noise from the direction of St. Joseph's steeple, and a black swarm came flying towards Peachin's. It wasn't a gargoyle. It was a gaggle of gargoyles, or whatever the hell gargoyles were called when you grouped them. Those good old boys must have been drunker than Dean in San Antonio when they were talking to that reporter. _Unless more of them have been coming._

Charlotte tried to stand again. "We have to go."

"You're in no condition to walk," Sam retorted. He put the binoculars around his neck, and pulled out the gun on his back holster. Pulled off the safety and loaded a round. "Duck, Charlotte!"

The creatures had reached them. They flew past Charlotte as she stood, whipping her clothes around her like she was caught in a maelstrom. Whatever they were, they weren't gargoyles. The things brushing past his face didn't even feel like flesh, let alone stone. And they smelled like rotting cows. Sam had never seen a monster like this before, not even in the journal.

"Dean said gargoyles were an easy gig!" Charlotte screamed. She looked like she was trying not to gag.

Sam shouted, trying not to take in the stench. "I have no fucking idea what these are!"

The horde screamed as one, and swarmed down into the alley between Peachin's and the feed store next door – where Dean had parked the Impala. Charlotte was already whipping across the roof to the stairs, when a woman's scream erupted through the chittering of the flock of monsters zooming through the alley. Sam could see a blue glow, incandescent, flicker between the creatures' bodies.

_Dean!_

Charlotte navigated the stairs as though she were possessed, and the hands on her crutches glimmered with the same incandescence as the light in the alley. Dean was surrounded as he lay on the pavement, but the woman screaming next to him was untouched. Charlie made a beeline to his brother's fallen body while Sam fired into one of the creatures. It exploded into a scatter of sparks. _Damn._ Protecting Dean was all that mattered, and they made a good team – Sam shooting the creatures directly in Charlotte's path to his older brother.

When she sat down beside his older brother, careful of her cast, Charlotte's hands were as blue as Dean's entire body – and she lifted him easily into her lap. The blonde woman who was with Dean took one look at both of them and screamed.

Sam continued shooting the bastards – blowing up as many as he could before he ran out of bullets.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Arlene's voice brought Dean back to himself, harsh and unyielding in the corners of his head. "Oh, God! Oh, God!" If words could scratch, his skin would be covered with tiny lacerations. The waitress whimpered. "Oh, God!"

"What happened?" Sam's voice. His little brother was edgy, and Dean could feel the horror running through him – whatever the hell Sam had seen, it wasn't good.

"Wha – " Dean tried to sit up, and it was like something picked up his brain and shook it in his skull. Darkness against his eyes, and he fell backwards against the pavement again. Only the pavement was soft. And it smelled like strawberries. _What happened? What the fuck do you think happened, Sammy? I'm laying here flat on my ass from a goddamn vision._

Strawberries.

_Fuck me._

Dean tried to roll to his side, but Charlie wouldn't let him – kept one hand firmly on his chest. His head hurt too goddamn much to fight her anyway, and her fingers on his forehead were cool – stroking away the worst of his migraine with each pass. He wondered if this was how she and Sam always felt. After. Visions sucked giant green donkey dicks. _And what the fuck does it mean that two of us have a vision in the same day?_

Dean could sense how anxious Charlie was, and her hand trembled on his forehead. When he closed his eyes briefly, Dean saw why; she was holding him within the gossamer edges of whatever she used to protect herself. Protecting him. _When it should be the other way around._

He snorted, opening his eyes. Charlie looked down at him, but she never stopped moving her hand. _It's worse when I physically touch them. _Dean tried to push her hand away, but she frowned and deliberately put her hand back. _Stubborn bitch. You'd think she was a freaking Winchester. _But then Charlie smiled at him, her soothing fingers brushing against his forehead. The pain throbbed less when she touched him. Dean didn't want to fight her. The splitting ache in his skull hurt too much.

"Please." Sam's voice was soft, and he placed his hand on Arlene's right shoulder. "He's my brother. I need to know."

Arlene sobbed. "It was my break, and we came here and, oh, God! He fell, and he screamed. And he started glowing. Blue! On his arms at first. Those monsters attacked me!" She took a sucking breath. "And then you people showed up, and her hands were blue! What is he? What are you people?" Anger was in her voice, undercutting the fear. "Don't fucking come any closer! I have mace!"

"Gargoyles?" Sam asked, still inching towards the waitress. "Did you see gargoyles?"

"Are you a fucking lunatic?" Arlene snapped. "There's no such thing as…" Her voice trailed off, and she hiccupped. Sam pulled her into the crook of his arm, offering comfort. Murmuring in that soft voice that Sam always used to soothe those they helped.

"Whatever is here, it's not gargoyles." Charlie leaned down to whisper at Dean. "Sam doesn't know what they were." Her hand stopped moving, but she kept it on his forehead all the same. "Every one he killed ending up disintegrating, so we don't even have anything to study." Her gray eyes were serious. "I think they're coming back. The gun just scared them."

"You can sense – " Dean swallowed. Even the inside of his throat hurt. He grabbed onto Charlie's arm and pulled himself up into a sitting position. "Monsters?"

"Strong emotion," Charlie countered, dropping her hand from his forehead. "Doesn't matter what it comes from." Her face was ashen. He guessed she'd been sharing the pain. Hell, the way she winced when Arlene let out a wail, bawling on his little brother's shoulder, Charlie might have just taken it from him.

Dean grunted. "Open curtains."

Her entire face scrunched up like it always did when Charlie was about to say something she didn't want to say. "I'm sorry, Dean."

"For what?" Dean began to turn his head, appraising the alley. "You come up and knock me in the back of the head with a psychic baseball bat?" His voice was rough.

"I should have warned you about what visions are like, what they can do. How they can make you feel afterwards." She grimaced. "I – " Charlie swallowed. "I thought I had time. I didn't expect you to have one so soon. The same day I did." Charlie was worried about that, too. _There's our Girl Genius… _"And it's my fault you're totally unprepared for this," she added.

"Your fault?" Dean snorted. "You've known me for less than two weeks!" There was a chittering sound in the distance. "They're getting closer, aren't they?" Dean didn't even have to ask – he felt rage spear through him, barely tempered by the gossamer cocoon around them. He wondered if that's how Charlie felt all the time – normal, until something jagged scratched its way into her. _Like that woman._ "Can you help me stand?" Time to stop talking – Dean Winchester had work to do. Monsters were coming.

"Sure." Charlie brought herself to a stand, braced on a crutch. "But what if we both end up falling down?"

"Wouldn't be the first time one of us was on top of the other," he drawled, grinning at her. Dean glanced over at Sam. He was still comforting the waitress. Dean rolled onto his knees slowly, holding out a hand for Charlie to help brace him with as he rose gradually to his feet. He wobbled, and he had a mild headache, but otherwise he felt normal. Well, as normal as someone who just got smacked down by a goddamn vision from God. Or wherever the hell they came from. He was fucking Called and he was freaking Chosen. "Sammy!" Dean called. "Incoming."

"You shouldn't be up, Dean!" His little brother frowned, arm still around the waitress. "What the hell are you doing letting him up, Charlotte?"

"Keep your pants on, little brother. We don't have much choice. You think you can take all the little bastards on by yourself?" Dean smiled at Charlie to soften what he said next. "You want Charlie to wade in and start whacking with her crutches?"

"Good point." Sam pushed the waitress away gently. "Are you going to be okay, Arlene?"

The blonde woman nodded. "Yeah. I think so."

Dean shared a glance with Sam, saw his little brother look pointedly at Charlotte Webb. "Charlotte," Sam said, "You need to take Arlene and go. Neither of you should be here when those things come back."

"I can do that," Charlie replied, giving Arlene a look. "Why don't you come with me, Arlene?" She smiled at the waitress. And Dean saw it. The cocoon expanding, one small wisp reaching out to brush against the waitress as Charlie smiled. Arlene returned the smile, warily at first. _And I can pull open the curtains when I need to, but that requires me to touch people._ Charlie glanced at Sam. "Keep yourself safe, Sam," Charlie said. But Charlie was still worried when she looked at Dean, hadn't quite closed herself off the way she normally did.

"Take my phone." Sam's eyes widened as Dean handed Charlie his cell. "And take a cab from the bar. Once you get back to the motel, you keep the doors locked. If you even sense that asshole nearby, Sam's the first speed dial. And I want you to keep the spare gun in the dresser with you." Dean frowned. "You got all that, Charlie?" he asked.

Charlie's eyes flashed underneath a nearby light, but then her body relaxed. She put the phone into the small purse she had slung over her shoulder. "You stay safe, too, Dean. Don't – " Charlie's face crumpled. "We still need to talk."

"Damn right we do, Girl Genius, but I've got to work now." Dean smiled softly at her. And the look on her face – Charlie knew. Hell, Charlotte Webb had told him what he was in the back of his car, when all Dean could think about was fucking her. But this was what he was born to do, who he was born to become. If anyone understood that, it was the girl who could drop inside of someone and calm their nightmares. Who took someone else's pain inside of herself.

"You need to learn – " Charlie started, but stopped when their eyes met.

"I know, Charlie. And you're going to teach me. But I have to go." And he did. Dean's hands itched. There were monsters coming to Madison, and the Winchesters were taking them out. It was what he was born to do. He glanced at his little brother. _What we are both supposed to do._

Sam did another double-take, coughing. "If the phone rings, answer it," Sam added. "It might be us."

The chirping noise was closer now, humming through the air around the church. Charlie was walking towards the waitress on her crutches, voice low as Arlene began to whimper again. One of the creatures came into view – bastard looked like a gargoyle's ugly cousin. Dean felt anger uncoil from inside of himself, and Charlie's head turned sharply towards him – gray eyes narrowing as she put her arm around Arlene.

He was unraveling inside with need, the need to protect someone. Just like he always protected Sammy, ever since the day he'd carried his baby brother out of a burning house. And Dean had the same need on jobs, when there was an innocent to be saved and that was more important than anything – his life, his revenge. It was worse when kids were involved, the one thing he could never deny. He'd even felt it once with Charlie, when he saw her laying on the ground at the bottom of a stairwell. But this feeling was different. Bigger. It wasn't just a job. It wasn't vengeance. People just needed to be saved.

_You are Called and you are Chosen._

Dean Winchester was a fucking Warrior of God. This was what he was born to do. Monsters might walk its roads, but this world didn't belong to them.

"I think they're congregating near the church," Sam said. His eyes had gone round, and the look he gave Dean was faintly ill. "Are you sure you're okay, Dean?"

Dean shook his head. "Got no choice, Sammy. We've got to save this town." He sighed. "And then I need to talk to Charlie about that vision." Dean swallowed. "I need to know if it was real."

"What?" Sam looked at him dubiously.

"I saw a little girl. Like one of us." Dean felt his throat catch, hoped like hell Sam didn't pick up on it. She was so tiny. "And something was hurting her, Sammy." Dean couldn't even bring himself to tell Sam what he felt as those knives sliced that little girl's flesh, and he bit back a dry heave. _Dear God, please don't let it be true._

"Beata?" Sam breathed the question. "You know where she is?"

"I don't even know if it's real, little brother. But if I did, we wouldn't be standing here talking. Or thinking about those flying freaks." Dean opened the trunk to the Impala, pulled out two flare guns and handed one to his little brother. Pulled out some extra flares. "Sooner we kill those ugly bastards, sooner we talk to Charlie. And if we're lucky, they'll lead us to a nest." _If they even have a freaking nest._

"Can't follow on foot," Sam said. "They fly too fast."

"Hopefully a swarm that big will be visible from the road," Dean replied. "Close to a full moon, so there's enough light to see them by. Not too cloudy." Sam was looking at him with a grim expression on his face. "I've always wanted to try off-roading in the 'Pala," Dean added. He slammed the trunk closed.

Sam shook his head. "You're one crazy bastard."

"Just hope I don't get knocked unconscious by a vision while I'm driving." He opened the door and slid behind the steering wheel. Sam just stared at him for a couple of minutes, then shrugged his shoulders. Dean leaned over to unlock the passenger door before Sam could pull his little trick. Sam joined him in the front seat, glanced at him furtively before slamming his own door shut. Dean sighed. "What, Sam?"

"It's just – " His little brother frowned. "I've seen that expression before. It's not good."

"What expression?" It was Dean's turn to frown.

"Just promise me you'll take care of yourself tonight," Sammy returned. He set the flare gun in his lap, settling his arms around himself. His little brother looked so empty, leaning suddenly against the cold window with his sunken eyes, Dean couldn't do anything but swallow fiercely. "I can't lose you, Dean," Sam added. His voice cracked, and there was a shimmer of blue along his cheekbone.

Dean kept his eyes on the road, pointing the Impala towards the church. Knuckles white on the steering wheel. He hoped Sam wouldn't notice. He slowed down the car when the church was in view and dared to look at Sam. His little brother looked tired, but fully alert – loading a flare into the gun he was holding. "We're going to have to do this quick, Sammy," Dean said. "Think you can hike up the window?"

"Think you can drive this piece of crap once all hell breaks loose?" Sam retorted. _Smartass. _

Dean grinned suddenly. "Let's do this, Geek Boy."

Sam nodded, already opening his window and sliding out to rest his bony ass on the door. He had a second flare in his hand, ready to reload once the first shot was fired. Dean rolled down his own window, peered up at the bell tower of the church. What looked like hundreds of those flying freaks were swirling around the tower, gibbering and shrieking against the night sky. "Ready, Sammy?" Why the hell didn't the town notice a group of – things – like that every night for the past week? _Fucking gargoyles?_

"Game on," his little brother said, and a flare burst into the swarm.

They burned easily, exploding into shadows with each flare that hit them. Bodies didn't drop to the ground – when they exploded, they took others with them. Screams increased, and several lights turned on along the street – on top of the stores where people probably lived. _Shit_. Dean was running out of flares, and Sam slid back into the car with a frown.

Suddenly there was the bang of a shotgun, the bullet whizzing past the Impala, and the flying freakazoids swooped past and began flying away.

Dean didn't need to be told twice. He pressed his foot down on the gas pedal, and sped down Madison's main drag after the shrieking mass in the sky. The creatures swooped angrily, some even attempting to dive bomb the car – exploding into flickers of fire against the windshield as they died. The barreled out of town as the swarm veered past and turned into some farmland.

_Fuck._

He twisted the steering wheel, pulling the Impala off the road and into a field. Gunning the engine, his baby roared into action – spitting dirt behind her as they gave chase. Those goddamn flying fuckers weren't getting away without a fight. The entire dashboard was infused with a blue glue.

"Holy shit!" Sam was staring at him with eyes gone round. "Dean…" It was him. Dean was shining like a motherfucking glowstick. _Got to work. Don't have time to scream._ Sammy's hands were braced on the dashboard, sigils cropping with the same blue glow across his wrists.

"You hanging in there, Sammy?" Dean's voice seemed to fill the entire car. Knuckles still hard around the steering wheel, eyes not even needing to focus on the things soaring above and around them. He could feel their hate, their anger. And what Dean could sense, he could track – the first use of his chick flick gift that didn't blow chunks.

Sam actually chuckled. "Yeah. Just trying to do those crap exercises Charlotte taught me, and your driving sucks."

"Bite me."

"You wish, Dean." The symbols on his hands were fading.

Another creature shrieked and swooped down into the dashboard, sparking across the window. Dean just kept right on driving, while Sam's eyes got a little white around the edges. A stone wall appeared before them, topped with barbed wire and jagged edges. Dean slammed his foot on the brakes, and swerved the car so that it was running parallel to the wall. Sam bit off a scream. The creatures were still flying around somewhere past the fricking wall.

"Fuckers just tried to kill us!" Dean roared. The anger was flying towards them again, swerving past them and back out past them into more farmland. "Damn it!" Dean grit his teeth and turned the Impala to hound the swarm. Those little bastards weren't going to get away now. "Hang on, Sammy!" And he gunned the engine, the Impala roaring past the wall and back into the fields.

They were good – Dean would give them that much. But they were getting careless – more of them flying into the Impala. _Like that would slow my baby down. _He didn't know how long they'd been on the chase; they moved, the 'Pala moved with them. So long as Dean could feel them, Dean could track them. Even Sam was getting into it, grinning like a lunatic each time Dean turned the wheel, or started running parallel to walls whenever the ugly bastards thought Dean was getting careless.

When the last one dive-bombed the car, Dean had no idea where they were and he had nothing left to follow. "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" Dean slammed his hand onto the steering wheel. Those goddamn monsters had led them to a road in the middle of nowhere.

"Oh, shit," Sam whispered. He pointed towards a sign on Dean's left. A highway sign. "Madison, three miles," Sam added. "They led us right back where we came from."

"So what now?" Dean's breath came out as a hiss. "What the fuck do we do now? Gear up for round two tomorrow night?" He shook his head. "Hell, no. I'm talking to Charlie and we're going after the girl."

"That bad?" Sam shook his head.

"Sam!" The urgency filled him, the need to protect battered into the back of his skull. "If she's real, I have to save her."

"I know, man. I know."

"You don't understand, Sammy. This little girl – in the vision, she's being eaten alive." He swallowed. "The fucker is cutting her to pieces!" If Dean weren't so pissed, he'd be throwing up with the memory. _And the knives slice into her flesh, quivering still on its forks as Death feeds._

Sam's eyes were shiny when he turned to look at Dean. "And you can feel it, right?" It was his little brother's turn to swallow. "Being an empath must suck out loud. At least I just see the things that happen. I don't feel it."

"Yeah." Dean's voice was hard. "I can."

"The one thing I know is that we're sent visions to prevent something from happening, Dean. I read that in the journals that Charlotte gave me." He frowned as Dean pulled the car onto the road back into town. "But the visions don't run on the same time-table we do. Charlotte told me she had a vision once fifteen years ago, and it hasn't happened yet," his little brother added.

"This blows chunks, Sam. I don't even know what's real anymore." Dean let out a sigh. "That girl sure complicated things with her stupid plan to give you a freaking book bag and a glowing sword."

"This would have happened to us regardless, Dean. It's how we're made."

"It pisses me off that she was right, though." Dean knew it wasn't fair. The way he felt when they were on the chase, the way he used his Gift to track monsters so angry they left a trail for him in the sky. He believed it now. He was born to this life. _Men and women who fight like you and Sam. Helping them fulfill their sacred purpose, protecting humanity from curses and monsters that we were never meant to see. _"That I'm a fucking Warrior of God," Dean added.

"Wouldn't it be easier for you if it was?" Sam snorted.

"Cute, Sammy."

"Just pointing out the obvious." His little brother's voice was soft, and Dean saw him close his eyes – lower his head like he was seeing something in his geek brain that Sammy didn't want to see.

"I'm so wired I'm never going to be able to sleep."

"You could call Arlene," Sam replied, his voice a little short. _What's with the attitude, little brother?_

"Or we could go back to the motel and check in with Charlie," Dean replied, glancing at Sam as they drove. He turned on the radio – "Stairway to Heaven" was playing, and damn if Dean couldn't hear Charlie's little off-key warble in the back of the Impala. "Charlie really can't sing."

"How do we ask her to stop?" Sam was looking out the window.

"We don't, Sammy. Girl likes to sing; she just can't. You talk all the time, and half the crap you say is full of shit." Dean grinned. "I can't make you stop talking. Trust me, dude, I've tried. You stop talking so much, and then I'll ask Charlie not to sing."

"Screw you." But his little brother was laughing. "You know what I think, Dean?"

"Nope." Dean snorted, looked out the window – hoping to catch another glimpse of the swarm, but the sky was clear. Just a big, nearly full moon. "But I'm guessing you're going to tell me," Dean added.

"I think you're just as glad she stayed as I am. Even if she did complicate our lives with a book bag and a glowing sword."

"And I think you've got a few screws loose, Sammy, but you don't see me bringing that up as a theory for your fucked-up personality." He shook his head. How could Dean tell his little brother that he felt their mother die and that a goddamn redhead was the only person in the world who knew; and that as fucked up as the whole thing was, it was good to know that someone understood what that felt like. That his nightmares didn't just stem from being crazy deep down inside. Dean shrugged his shoulders. "Once you get past all that end of the world crap, she's a nice girl."

"That's my point," Sam returned, looking out the window. "She is a _nice_ girl."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Jesus Christ! Warning received loud and clear, _Francis_."

"Fuck you, Dean." Sam was holding himself again, and Dean saw another flicker of blue glint in his little brother's eyes. "I just don't want to see my friend get hurt."

"And when have I ever been interested in _nice_ girls?" Dean retorted. "She's here because I don't want my little brother to become the thing that destroys the world." Sam's body jerked as though Dean had smacked him, hard against the chest. Dean frowned, a warm ache blazing in his chest. _Damn, Sammy._ "I – " He took a deep breath. "I can't lose you, either, Sam." _You and me and Dad—I mean, I want us… I want us to be together again. I want us to be a family again. _

Sam didn't say anything until they were walking up the stairs to the motel room. "What if we lose?" Dean's throat ached when Sammy said it – his little brother looked so much like he used to when he said it, before Shemhezai started taking over the neighborhood. "You don't know how bad that thing wants out of me, Dean."

"You're not that thing, Sam. You're my geeky little brother, and I'll kick your ass if you ever forget that." It was the only thing Dean could think to say as he pulled the cardkey out of his pocket. "I might just kick your ass on general principle because this conversation is starting to piss me off."

"Doofus." But Sam was grinning.

"Asshole," Dean returned, sliding the key and opening the door.

The room was brightly lit – it was almost midnight, but Charlie was sitting on the farthest bed with a laptop balanced on her knees and several of her own research books scattered around her. She was ready for bed, wearing new red-striped pajamas they bought to replace her old blue ones. Dean had wanted to get her a set with yellow ducks, but Charlie had her limits; even had Sam smack him on the arm for her when Dean mentioned them a second time. She kept typing, but a shiver went through her shoulders. "Hey," she said, looking up at them suddenly. "Any luck?"

"No." Dean really didn't want to talk about it – and he felt damn guilty about that little shiver. He had probably just ripped Charlie wide open. Good thing for him that she didn't mention it in front of Sam. "You?" Dean asked.

"I think so," Charlie answered. "Arlene's brother is one of the good old boys from the article. Said she would ask him to meet us for breakfast at the diner around 9:00 or so. He might know more about the creatures." But she looked doubtful.

"Score one for Research Girl," Sam chuckled. He took off his jacket, and headed off towards the bathroom.

"Score two for Charlotte," she returned. She gestured for Dean to join her on the bed, which would have shocked the hell out of him any other day but this one. Charlie was already turning her laptop around as he slid next to her, and the ugly mug of one of those flying motherfuckers greeted him from the screen. "I found some references in books, too. I was just getting ready to cross-check them."

"Where did you learn to become such a research geek?" Dean asked lightly. Charlie gave him an arch look, and then started chewing her thumbnail again as she stared at the bathroom door. He sighed. "Tonight really sucked, Charlie. I couldn't even find a goddamn nest. How am I supposed to save a little girl I saw in a vision?" Her head whipped around to look at him, taking in what he said – gray eyes wide. _How's that for dropping the shoe, Girl Genius?_

"Do you remember any details from the vision?" she asked. Her fingers actually twitched above the keyboard, like Charlie was getting ready to start researching based on anything he could give her. Dean almost smiled at that.

"Beyond feeling what it's like to be eaten alive, no."

"Oh, God." Charlie looked like she was going to throw up, and then blinked. Once. "Did it feel real to you?" She frowned. "Of course it felt real to you. Don't be an idiot, Charlotte." Her eyes widened. "Is that the vision you had when you collapsed?"

"Anyone ever tell you that there's a hole in your head the size of Texas?"

"It could be important, Dean. Those things attacked you once your vision started. You actually called the Ziv Zakai and they were drawn to it. That's enough proof for me that you were being Called." Charlie had tears standing in her eyes when she looked at him. "I just wish you remembered more, so we would know where to start."

"I'll take notes next time, Girl Genius." Dean's eyes widened. "And did you just say we?"

Charlie nodded. He was going to say something more but there was a yelp from the bathroom, followed by a groaning sound from Sam. The door whipped open, and Sam entered – wrapped in nothing but a towel. His little brother immediately grabbed his duffel bag, glaring at Charlie. "That was so not funny, Charlotte! The gloves are off!" Sammy gave her another pissed off look and stalked back into the bathroom.

"What the fuck was that about?" Dean had to ask.

She coughed, lowering her eyes. "I did some other research tonight, too," Charlie said, opening up another web browser on her laptop. Dean just stared at her dumbly. "I found a website for duct tape practical jokes," Charlie added, pointing towards one line. He leaned towards her to get a better look.

"Condiment commode," Dean read out loud. It was a pretty good gag, and Charlie knew where they kept the duct tape. Dean swallowed. "You did that to the freaking toilet?" His eyes widened. "What if I had gone in before Sam? My ass would be covered in ketchup!"

"This is war, Dean." She grinned at him. "Casualties are expected." Her mouth twisted. "And it was honey mustard barbecue sauce."

Dean returned her grin. That damn mischievous look _was_ infectious. "Score three for the Cowgirl," he said, laughing as Charlie registered the words. He still couldn't get that little girl out of his head. But Dean Winchester would pick right back up fighting tomorrow, because that's what Winchesters did. Because sometimes, when the job went south, the only thing to do was laugh. Laugh until it hurt. And then get back to work.

"I warned you, Dean." Charlie wasn't exactly pulling off the solemn look, though.

"Bring that fiendishly clever revenge, sweetheart." Dean snorted. "But you're not good enough to take both Sammy and I on – even with that handy roll of duct tape you stole from Sam's bag." The startled look on her face only made him laugh harder.

And then Charlie poked him in the arm; she was laughing, too.

* * *

A/N:

Not even sure where to begin on this one…

I got down with my fangirly self. I even mentioned _The Surf Ninjas_ – a silly movie, with some of my fondest memories of friends. This was full of movie references, actually – _The Godfather_ comes to mind. Not to mention good old _Pirates of the Caribbean_, _Amelie_ and the big daddy of monsters himself: Godzilla. Yes, _Gojira_ is the unedited for American audiences version of the original film. And Ishiro Honda, its director, did work with Akira Kurosawa.

My inner otaku came out to play for awhile, too. _Akira_ is an anime based on the manga title of the same name. (My advice, read the manga; the movie is beautifully animated, but barely scratches the surface of the story.) Testsuo is a character who starts going insane when his psychic powers manifest. Seemed appropriate, given how Dean is always referring to Sam as a psychic. And I would suspect Teen!Dean would have been all over _Akira_.

_Girl Genius_, apart from being Charlie's nickname, is a fabulous online comic by Phil Foglio. Those who follow By Gaslight may be particularly interested, as its undeniably steampunk. (Hey, don't shoot me for pimping my other fic.) Since Dean uses it so much, I felt the need to shout-out and give credit where it's due.

The title is a song by Blue Oyster Cult.

As for the rest, you know the drill: Criticism always welcome. (In fact, I encourage it!) And comments are the things that make my dizzy brain happy.


	9. Lost Like This

This is set sometime after the end of Season 1. While it doesn't break canon to my knowledge, it is definitely AU. There's something bigger in Madison, Georgia, than a plague of flying freaks: the thing controlling them. They've got one clue, they're probably out gunned – and they have to wait until morning to get anything done.

* * *

Disclaimer: The Winchester boys aren't mine. The Colt isn't mine. Wish the car was mine. But I can only blame myself for the Circle of Enoch.

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Charlotte Webb, Aaron, Arlene

Rating: PG ( Some bad language, but also the return of Shirtless!Winchesters – so some good with the bad, I think.)

Summary: Conversation is the slowest form of human communication.

Feedback: Absolutely!

Miscellaneous: As always, this would not have been possible without the brilliance of JMM0001, who rightly called me on pacing and tension – and hopefully I have done her insight justice. Much thanks to wenchpixie, who convinced me to keep in the funniest bit. (I did not want Sam to kill me with his brain.) Both acted as my betas for this chapter. As always, the good parts are because of them. The bad parts are all me.

* * *

**Chapter Eight: Lost Like This**

The only constant Charlotte knew about traveling with the Winchesters – beyond the way they ate breakfast – was that it was never going to be dull.

Jacob had always taught her that people had patterns to their behavior; once she understood the patterns, it was a simple thing to use her Gift to subtly influence people – to couch her persuasion so that it meshed with the target's natural instinct. Charlotte only used her Gift that way to guard herself, a practical application that helped her survive living with her mother, living within the Circle – which was probably the real reason Jacob was so adamant that she understood the lesson. He used to say that she needed to stay safe, that the Circle of Enoch could never know she was her father's daughter. It wasn't true, but it seemed to give Jacob hope to believe it.

The Winchesters, however, didn't play by conventional rules and just when Charlotte thought she had figured out Sam and Dean Winchester, one of them did something that surprised her. Usually something that floored her – like telling her she was brave and meaning it. When Dean opened up to her about his vision, she would have fallen down had she not already been sitting – and even then, she asked him the dumbest question anyone could ask an empath. _Did it feel real to you? _Charlotte could have kicked herself when he just looked at her – between that and the fact that she couldn't make it through a meal without dropping something on herself, Dean Winchester probably thought Charlotte Anne Webb was the world's biggest dork.

There was no way in Hell that she could tell Dean about _her_ visions after that. Who would feel better knowing that some inept girl was getting knocked out in the backseat of your car because she couldn't even hold onto you long enough for you to save your brother? Charlotte couldn't even drink orange juice properly. Why should Dean Winchester trust her with Sam's life? With his life? But the visions never lied, and Charlotte felt like she was standing on the edge of a precipice – she could feel the air around them, thick with something that was coming.

Something swirling around a boy who should be at Stanford.

The boy who had been surprising her from the moment they met, the boy with the demon inside. Charlotte saw what happened to Meg the first time she had been Touched by Azazeal, how Alex held his sister until the screaming stopped – and they were Beata trained to be a host. Strong-willed Meg – so resolute she had begun learning the Azeali Hexes when she was just thirteen – was reduced to a gibbering thing after five minutes.

Sam wasn't simply Touched – somehow, Shemhezai was burrowed inside of him, stuck in the cracks between Sam's soul and what he could become. Shemhezai swirled in Sam like a virus, the contagion before the world died; every time Sam started Awakening, the creature tried to push its way out – using the power that should stop him to give birth to itself. And it should have, as many times as Charlotte saw the power shimmer across Sam. Shemhezai should have ripped out what was left of Sam Winchester and howled its victory across a broken landscape.

But he was still Sam Winchester, clinging stubbornly to himself with everything he could muster – buoyed only by a brother's determination to save him. If Dean Winchester could save his little brother by sheer force of will, he would have already single-handedly averted Armageddon. Charlotte would be on her way to Washington D.C. with a warm hug from Sam, and maybe another poke in the arm from his older brother.

_The only thing you can do, when faced with the strength of love's purity, is stand with it._

It always came back to Jacob's oldest lessons, about what it meant to be a Blessed Child. She could repeat every lesson in her sleep, every rule of behavior – every reason they were born to serve. So many lessons, all recited and repeated while the others were learning how to forge their gifts into Shemhezai's weapons. She always thought Jacob taught her simply to keep the old ways alive – she was a girl too scared to do what was right – but he always made her recite his words until they came as easy as breathing.

Maybe Jacob was following his own plan, completing his own appointed task before the end.

Charlotte was totally unprepared. At least the Winchesters had their father. John Winchester had made them hunters, teaching them that uncanny way they looked at the world. They were his answer to the Circle of Enoch, and those boys broke every rule she'd been taught to obey – to do what really mattered. To save people. Celeste Webb had broken her daughter – but Jacob had taught Charlotte what it meant to be Beata.

It was hard to ignore a lifetime of lessons when all that stood between the beginning and the end was a pair of brothers crossing the country in an Impala.

She maintained a brave face when the Winchesters asked her questions – Charlotte didn't want them to know she was as scared as they were, that she didn't know how to respond. She was Circle-trained. Charlotte was supposed to know the answers to their questions. But when Sam asked about mental defense to protect the world from what was inside of him, Charlotte knew she had stumbled into unknown territory. The second time she heard that woman's voice cry '_Help him_' in her mind, Charlotte ran through a horde of flying demons to pull Dean Winchester into her arms and cocoon him in her shields. She had never been so far removed from the safety of her library before, years of reading books and memorizing things – safety shattered by the fear of what was coming.

Charlotte didn't know how the Winchesters did it, living like this. God help her on the day that a lifetime of planning her escape kicked in, because even the memory of the way the Winchesters looked when they told her she was brave – how Dean smiled, the shift of Sam's body as he thought twice about hugging her – wouldn't be enough to keep her at their side. Hell, she'd only just decided that she was _on_ their side. And she really wished Jacob was with them. He could teach the Winchesters what they needed to know, answer all of their questions. She was no substitute for a real teacher. It was all Charlotte could do to clamp down the fear inside long enough to read a goddamn paragraph in a book.

Charlotte slammed her book shut, breath coming out in a huff, and let it fall into her lap.

"What's wrong, Charlotte?" Sam looked up from his own laptop – he was reviewing the websites she had found earlier, while she and Dean looked through her books. Her own laptop was still powered on, sitting between them on the bed.

"Just tired," she replied, pushing up her glasses with her hands to rub her eyes. Charlotte wasn't going to say more. People needed to be saved – that was more important than sitting around wishing you had a some small clue about what to do next. A little girl's life was at stake. And it didn't help that Dean was sitting beside her, shaking inside like he was touched by a livewire. "And I think I need some coffee," she added.

"Maybe you should get some sleep," Sam responded. She glanced at the clock – it was almost 2:00 AM.

"Are you both going to sleep?" Charlotte asked. Sam and Dean shot each other sheepish looks. _Of course not. _She looked over at the little coffee maker in the room – they'd already used the complimentary packet an hour ago. _Damn. _Maybe they could make another pot; it would taste awful, but she'd done worse pulling an all-nighter back at Georgetown.

Dean's mouth twisted. "Sammy, she's going to stay up as long as we do." He shook his head. "Maybe we should all get some sleep; it's not like we're going to find anything new, and I've been reading this freaking book for so long it looks like gibberish." Hazel eyes rolled up into his head. "Oh, come on!" Dean exclaimed, and he flipped the book over.

Sam snorted. He might even have laughed, except that Dean was glaring at him. "So what do we know?" the youngest Winchester asked.

"Beyond what Charlie already figured out while we were wasting our time chasing the freaks, not much." Dean's face was etched with his frustration, and Charlotte watched him flex his hands. "These little Dreamling bastards are mostly incorporeal. They're summoned, so they're too weak-minded to act without someone controlling them, and they feed on dreams."

"So whoever was controlling them led us right back to town." Sam leaned back in his chair. "So we need to figure out who, why and where." He stretched his arms. "And the who is bad, Dean. It doesn't take much to call one of these things, but fifty? A hundred?"

"So we're looking for one powerful mofo," Dean returned, frowning. His eyes glittered, his fists unclenching slowly. "One thing we haven't checked is how their victims react, if there are any common symptoms. If we could figure out who the victims are, we can figure out the why. Try to see if they had anything in common."

Charlotte found herself grinning – for someone who said he wasn't good at research, Dean Winchester asked all the right questions. Charlotte was so concerned with trying to figure out what they were, she hadn't stopped to think about what the Dreamlings did and to whom. "What?" Dean asked suddenly, eyes focused on her. Angry.

"Nothing, really…" she replied. "It was just – researching the victims." Charlotte lowered her eyes. "That was clever." Dean gave her a strange look, and she felt the color creep into her cheeks. _It's official. I'm the world's biggest dork. _"But I might have something that would help with that," she added, twisting herself so that she could get off the bed.

"Park it, Charlie," Dean said. "We're on it."

Sam was already standing. "What am I looking for?"

"In the file box, there's a green leather CD case," she responded. Charlotte turned to look at Dean. "Did you just tell me to park it?"

The older Winchester shrugged. "You don't have to do everything by yourself." Dean looked at her pointedly, and she moved her legs back in front of her.

"I'm just as capable of finding a CD case," Sam added, his voice muffled as he rummaged through the file box. He stood up, several multi-colored cases in his hands, and sat down on the foot of the bed – dumping the cases in front of them. "How many of these things do you have?"

"Not as much as we need," she said, "But I didn't have time to download every archive before I left." She started to lean forward to get the green one, but Dean was already reaching for it. "Thanks," Charlotte said when he handed it to her. She unzipped it and started flipping through the discs. Her head ached.

Sam was still fiddling with the other cases in front of him – brow furrowing as he unzipped the red one. "You downloaded archives from the Circle of Enoch?"

Charlotte nodded. "Secondary copies of texts and documents were digitized about five years ago." Sam was grinning at her, and she returned the smile. "So I started downloading as much as I could before I left, and organized them as we traveled. Alex actually believed me when I told him I was bringing research along with us for the mission." Charlotte patted the case on her knee. "The green CD case is full of case reports."

"Case reports?" Dean snorted, eyes twinkling. "So does any schmo get to write up a case report, or can only special operatives do it?"

"The Circle's been around for hundreds of years," she retorted. "They weren't always the bad guys." But Charlotte laughed at the question. "Given how they're written," she added, "I think it was any schmo, although Alex Masters can barely spell his own name." Charlotte chuckled, leaning conspiratorially towards Dean. "I've got a copy of his last report saved on my laptop. It's perfect for slow torture any time you need to interrogate a demon," she added.

Sam groaned as Dean's eyes widened, returning her grin. "We're not going to get anything done with the two of you – " the youngest Winchester was abruptly shocked into silence by a glare from Dean. "Getting punchy," Sam added, grinning at his older brother. It was too early in the morning to even try and decipher their messages.

"Punchy? I'm not punchy!" Dean made a face at his little brother, his eyes a little too bright, and then poked her in the arm again. "Are you punchy, Charlie?" Dean asked. _Ow._ She rubbed her arm where he poked her. He managed to hit the exact same spot the last three times he felt the need to emphasize something he was saying to her.

"I rest my case," Sam muttered, shaking his head. His eyes, blurred and just as tired, focused on Charlotte's face. "So, what do we do with the case studies?" the youngest Winchester asked.

"Each disc has a small search program on it. I figured we could look up cases that correlate to the different names for Dreamling." Charlotte bit her thumb. "The only problem is that we need a third laptop." She sat up straight, back against the headboard. "We could switch off with catnaps every hour."

"You're just trying to figure out a way to stay up with us Winchesters, aren't you?" Dean asked. "You're exhausted, Charlie. And I know you've got one kickass headache." There was no arguing with that – he knew what she did for him in the alley.

"There's a little girl out there who needs help." Charlotte said. Dean looked at her like she was stating the obvious. "How do both of you do this all the time?" She asked softly. _Oh, God… Now they think I'm a whiner on top of being a dork. _Dean's eyes widened, and he shrugged. He picked up the green case on Charlie's knee and handed one of the discs inside to Sam.

"One case at a time," Sam answered, and his voice was rough. "And this clue is the best we've got."

Charlotte balanced her laptop on her knees again, taking the second disc that Dean pulled out of the case. She slipped it into drive, and pulled up the search utility once the main menu appeared. _Focus on the job, then. I can do that._

She started typing in search parameters into the text box on the screen, opting for French first – it would be slow-going, but she might be able to make out something without having to rely too much on a dictionary for translation. Charlotte had no idea what they would do if case reports showed up for some of the oriental languages. _Call Alan? _That would work. Poorly. She hadn't talked to him outside of departmental meetings since she started dating Miles, and Charlotte always avoided the memory of Alan's eyes when they woke up in bed together and he saw exactly what she looked like underneath her clothes.

_Too late._

Charlotte closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the headboard. _I know I was drunk, and you were fucking fantastic in the dark but, Jesus, you're a freak. A scabby, ugly freak._ As if a linguistics TA couldn't tell the difference between scabs and scars. Even Miles looked faintly ill whenever he saw her stomach, the crazy woman's quilt, although the rest of her didn't seem to bother him. Much. He still averted his eyes whenever she was getting dressed, and she didn't buy the argument of 'I really like the lights off.' She opened her eyes and saw Dean, staring at the status bar on the search program. Her throat swelled, a little ache like it did when she was growing up. _But if I'm a freak and you're a freak, Sammy, that makes Charlie just like us. _

The Winchesters even made the word 'freak' hurt a little less.

The program pinged, interrupting her thoughts. The search in French pulled up nothing, so Charlotte put a checkmark next to the French variant on her notepad – sorely tempted to hit Dean with her pencil when he snorted. Charlotte settled for a knowing look, which only set off his laughter; she probably looked exactly like Sr. Rose Bernadette back in math class. But at least he wasn't vibrating inside, and she could actually breathe a little.

Anger slammed into her. Sam out of the corner of her eye, darkened scowl on his face. For a moment – a flash of a second – she braced herself for a flicker of orange in his eyes. "I am such an idiot!" Sam exclaimed. Charlotte exhaled. "I've been searching on terms individually instead of using the 'or' function," Sam added, rubbing his eyes.

"Me, too," Charlotte said. Her head fell backwards against the headboard – not hard, just enough to startle her as her head connected with a thud. "And I've been checking them off on a list! How stupid can I be?"

"That's it," Dean said, pulling the laptop off Charlotte's knees and setting it on the nightstand. She tried to reach for it as he picked it up, but the damn man was too fast. "We're all going to bed. We can get about five hours of sleep and still have time to pick up where we left off." He grinned at Charlotte. "We'll switch off while taking showers or something."

"But – " Sam started to protest, immediately closing his mouth with Dean's gaze whipped towards him. Dean looked away. "But what about the girl," the younger Winchester added.

Dean's shoulders slumped. Charlotte resisted the urge to touch his hand. "It's a vision, right? Those happen so we have time to stop it," he said. Dean swallowed. "If that's not true, guess the only hope I've got is that she heals," he added.

"Her Gift is Regeneration?" Charlotte asked. He hadn't told her that before – only that she was Beata – but it explained his urgency. Dean nodded. _If that's not true, guess the only hope I've got is that she heals. _Full of pain and fear – if his visions weren't prophetic, Dean would never know how many nights a little girl lay dying. No wonder he was a livewire inside, fingers itching just to do something. Not to be sitting in a goddamn room looking at goddamn books. Charlotte shook her head sharply to clear her thoughts. _And no wonder I'm picking up on everything._ She took a deep breath. "You were Called, Dean," Charlotte said softly. "And visions are warnings. You can stop this."

"You think so, Girl Genius?" Dean asked. He didn't look at her.

"I do," Charlotte answered simply, watching his shoulders as he breathed. Wishing that bravery she was supposed to have was strong enough for her to do the right thing – to wrap her arms around him and share his pain. Hell, she'd settle for touching his hand. To send out one small tendril of comfort.

"Yeah, so…" Sam coughed suddenly. "I noticed there's no cot." Charlotte winced but didn't say anything – she was so driven to research the Dreamlings that she went straight to work. She didn't call the front desk for a cot. She hadn't even checked under the beds to see if one had been stashed away by a previous occupant.

"I can take a pillow and some blankets and go sleep in the bathtub. You two need to rest." Getting the cot was supposed to be her job. No reason either of them should suffer because she was too caught up in the research to do her job.

"The bathtub?" A grin was playing across Sam's face as he asked the question. "Are you going to prop your leg up on the ledge or something to have enough room for your cast?" When Sam Winchester put it that way, the whole idea sounded stupid. Charlotte could feel the heat rushing up from her neck, past her ears and tingling to the top of her head.

"It won't be the first time Sam and I had to sleep in the same bed," Dean added. He smiled at her, but it didn't reach his eyes. "But if he hogs the covers, you're not going to hear the end of it, Charlie."

"Fair enough." Charlotte returned his smile, mouth twisting up as she looked at him. She began pushing the books away from her, getting enough space to lie down on the bed without having to put her things away. Dean helped her clear the bed, turned off her laptop – started piling the books on the table. Anything to keep from actually settling down and sleeping. Sam was already on the other bed, curling up in his clothes – facing the front door to the room. She moved her legs over the side of the bed, looking for her crutches, but Dean was already there to help her stand. Touching Dean brought with it a frustration so hard it stabbed through her shields, rocking through her head.

Charlotte decided not to use her crutches, and she shuffled unsteadily towards the bathroom. Checked underneath the toilet seat, where Sam had left her a couple of surprises duct taped under the rim. When she was done, she washed her hands and face before brushing her teeth. A stab of aggravation whipped into the bathroom, and Charlotte's stomach clenched. She opened the door slowly and hobbled back into the room.

All of the lights were off, except the small one on the table. Dean had reopened Sam's laptop, and was typing in search terms off of her notepad. Sam was asleep – his breathing calm and relaxed.

She peered over Dean's shoulder and he started guiltily when her hair fell forward, brushing against his neck. Charlotte hadn't intended to get so close. Hazel eyes looked up at her as he twisted in the chair. "I can't sleep," Dean said quietly. Even the air around him was throbbing with need, his desire to just be doing something. Anything. If he knew where to start.

Charlotte sat down in the chair across from his at the table. _No way I can sleep, either. _ "Go get my laptop, Dean. You can search and I'll translate, and we'll swap computers for that." She frowned. "And I'll need my blue book bag – I keep it in the duffel," Charlotte added. _I'll need dictionaries. _She realized she had raised her chin at him again when Dean got that stupid grin on his face, like he was proud of her or something, but he didn't move. "I can't help you fight, Dean, but this – " Charlotte swallowed. "It's what I've been trained to do. Language is what I know."

"I'll take all the help I can get, Charlie," Dean said, and his smile reached his eyes. "But how about I find something first, and then I'll get your stuff." He pushed something towards her across the table. "Hungry?" Dean Winchester had just offered her a Ding Dong. She took it, started nibbling around the edge as she watched Dean – his eyes staring hard at the monitor. "You know," he said softly, "If you keep thinking so hard, you're going to break your brain." Dean raised an eyebrow and smirked at her.

_What the hell have I gotten myself into?_

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Sam was walking down an overgrown road, green trees arching overhead as dappled sunlight came down in patches on the dirt pathway in front of him. He could hear birds chirping, and some animals off in the brush – none coming close enough to see what he was doing on their road. Sam could hear whistling up ahead, beyond a turn in the road; the song sounded familiar.

He was surprised to see Aaron sitting on a stump, whistling and looking up at the clouds. "Hey, Sam," Aaron called as he drew closer, that same shit-eating grin on his face that Sam remembered from Milwaukee. "You going to pull a shotgun full of rock salt this time?" The accent just as strong. Still wearing the Sex Pistols t-shirt, with his brown hair slightly rumpled in the breeze.

Sam chuckled at that. "Didn't think to pack one," he returned. Aaron looked at him hard for a full ten seconds, and then burst out laughing. "Not meaning to sound all rude, but isn't this a little melodramatic?" He gestured towards the woods and the stump.

"More melodramatic than just showing up unannounced in your motel room? I whistled so you'd know someone was here," Aaron retorted. He stood up, putting his hands in his pockets. "I need to talk to you, Sam, and I can't do that with the girl in the room," Aaron added. "Besides, it was this or drop by for a nice chat in the john. I don't think either one of us wanted that."

"Thanks," Sam said wryly.

"Don't mention it," Aaron returned. "So, you been keeping busy?"

"Do jobs count?" Sam asked.

"Been on a job the whole time?"

"Touché," Sam returned lightly. "We're on a job now, but I've been practicing the sword for two hours every day when we aren't." Sam sighed. "Dean thinks I'm an idiot." Which was an understatement – Dean had always preferred a Glock to a broadsword. _Can't shoot long-range with a sword, little brother._

"Let me guess. Your brother always wanted to be Han Solo? Not sure how I feel about that." Aaron grinned. "You'd best remember to bring that sword with you on jobs, Sam. Practice is good, but it's not the same thing as a real fight. The sword may only react to you when your life is on the line."

"Good to know," Sam said lightly. _That'll really piss off Dean. Me lugging a sword around on every job?_ The Beata's eyes appraised him, like he was being measured by the man. He squared his shoulders. "Charlotte's been teaching me how to meditate," Sam added.

"Charlie's got a lot to learn from you boys." The way Aaron said her name, it was like he always knew that Charlotte Webb should really have been called 'Charlie' all along, and no amount of convincing would make a difference. "It's good that she's returning the favor by helping you." He narrowed his eyes. "Have the lessons been helping?"

Sam nodded. "I was able to keep Shemhezai inside a couple hours ago. Not even sure how I did it."

"Looks like you need to start listening to yourself more often, Sam. You're the one who told me you'd do it because you're a Winchester," Aaron said with a smile. "Shemhezai is one stubborn son of a bitch, but it's about time he realized that we're not ants just waiting to be stepped on."

The smile fell out of Aaron's eyes, but the accent got thicker. "But doing one thing right doesn't win the war. You're still a bunch of broken kids trying to save the world with a book bag full of notes and a glowing sword. What's coming up will break _all _of you if you're not ready." The Beata's eyes turned serious. "The three of you don't have time to be screwing around with practical jokes, Sam, so I hope you've enjoyed your little holiday. The moment you walk out that motel room door, the others are going to start joining you."

"Others?" Sam felt his blood grow cold. "More of the Twelve?"

"Circle doesn't have them all." Aaron nodded. "We made sure of that – hid them well, sealed their gifts until the time was right for them to Awaken. Haven't people been telling you that a storm is coming, Sam? You're the calm that stands in the middle of it right now and they'll be drawn to you."

Sam swallowed. "What about Shemhezai? Won't he try to…" _break them all? _Sam had actually felt the thing's manic desire, when Charlotte's gray eyes filled with tears, and Sam heard something pulled from her memory that made him want to go to Georgetown and hurt someone. _I know I was drunk, and you were fucking fantastic in the dark but, Jesus, you're a freak. A scabby, ugly freak. _And Dean – Shemhezai kept pushing at the frustration, and Dean was barely holding it together. Too wired to sleep. He was probably up right now trying to do more research.

"Oh, he'll try, Sam. It's what he does. And you'll fight him, because you have to." Aaron stretched his arm. "Are you even _reading_ the prophecy? You should know by now that the others are coming. Wasn't just luck that Charlie ended up in that bar with you. The others have signs, too." The Beata snorted. "The Circle gets them, and you're screwed. Don't go pissing your allies away before you even get them just by being sloppy."

Sam's cheeks burned. "Charlotte's still translating it."

"What are you three doing playing practical jokes on each other when you have so much work to do? Tell that girl to get a move on, Sam Winchester. Prophecy won't help you kids if you don't even know what's coming. What the hell is that girl thinking?" Aaron shook his head, and his eyes narrowed again. "And you can stop trying to make that girl a Warrior. She's a Mystic!"

It really pissed him off that a dead man could read his mind in a dream, but Sam remembered what happened the last time he challenged Aaron. And Sam knew what would happen if he asked the obvious question. _What the hell is a Mystic?_ "Aaron, Charlotte doesn't want to be a Hunter." It was a lame answer. "But we're going to teach her how to defend herself," Sam added, staring Aaron in the eyes. "If she's supposed to be with us, then she's going to stay safe. And that's _non-negotiable_."

The Beata looked away first. "Can't argue with the reasoning, I guess. But the girl knows how to defend herself; Charlie just doesn't like doing it. I should be thanking you boys for taking care of my little girl, instead of taking your head off..." Aaron's voice dropped off, and Sam could see tears standing in Aaron's brown eyes. _Shit. I knew it. I fucking knew it!_

Sam lowered his eyes. "You can't see her." _I need to talk to you, Sam, and I can't do that with the girl in the room_.

"That's not your worry, Sam. It's the bargain I made to become what I am." Aaron had that same determined look on his face, the one that mirrored Dean's and Sam shivered, pulling his arms around his stomach. "I hate always being the bearer of bad news, but I feel responsible for all of you. All of this." He grinned suddenly. "Guess we're two of a kind, Sam."

"The term you're looking for is '_Emo_,' Aaron." Sam returned the grin.

Touché." Aaron sat back down on the stump. "You been reading the book, Sam?"

"I've been trying." Sam scratched his ear. "Some of it I get – like the stuff about family." _Rarely do members of the same family grow up under the same roof._ Sam wouldn't have believed it a year ago; for a Winchester, there was nothing like sharing the name. It forgave all manner of sins, the blood they shared. But the world was connected, bigger than that – and they shared blood with more people than they knew. "But the rest of it seems pretty selfish to me," Sam added.

"Huh?"

"Using your own desire to shape the world. Donald doesn't take into account other people," Sam returned, feeling like an idiot. Sam had hated literature classes in college, interpretations that never meshed with what the professor wanted. "It seems to me that if you can shape the world, you should at least consider other people."

Aaron chuckled, looking up again at the clouds. "Well, that's the trick, isn't it?" He grinned at Sam again, brown eyes twinkling. Between one breath and the next, Aaron was gone.

Sam just stood there, staring open-mouthed at the empty stump. He had so many questions to ask, so many things he needed to know. The most important was whether or not Dean would be able to save the girl without dying – because that look on his face, when Dean was Called, said only one thing to Sam. _I died fighting. I fight in Death. _Dean Winchester was not going out that way. Not while Sam Winchester could still breathe.

But at least the sun was warm on his skin – and the air smelled fresh. Down the road, Sam could see an old farmhouse, mostly burnt but some of it was still standing. And there was a tree in front of the house, with an old tire swing.

Sam wondered what it would be like to swing for awhile, and not once did the thing in his belly stir.

He decided, while he was swinging, to pull one last prank.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

She was warm, snuggled underneath a blanket, and Charlie could hear Daddy singing in the kitchen as he made breakfast. Smelled like he was cooking some sausage, which meant that it was a special day. Daddy only made sausage on special days. Well, he made sausage every day because Daddy said every day was special. Every day was a chance to fix your mistakes from yesterday.

And there was nothing in the world Charlie loved more for breakfast than sausage, nothing she liked to do more in the morning than lay under the covers and listen to Daddy sing. Any day you start with a song is a good one, Charlie. Daddy would ruffle her hair when he said it. He'd smile, too – like nothing was wrong. Even if the smell of sausage was undercut by something else, something smoky that scared Charlie Webb just enough that she gave a small cry, pushing the covers off.

"Charlie!" There was a hand on her wrist, firm, as she sat up quickly.

Charlotte blinked, turning red. Dean Winchester was holding her arm, staring down at her hand. There was a huge pile of shaving cream in it. _Sam!_ The elder Winchester was frowning. "Damn it. I told him to leave you alone while I took a shower."

Charlotte smelled sausage – as though the dream still lingered. She must have slept right through Sam putting the shaving cream on her hand – which meant she was stretched to her limits. Before the Winchesters, that never happened. _I'm getting careless._

"Still waking up, huh?" Dean smiled at her and began wiping off the shaving cream with a towel he had draped across his neck. Charlotte realized he wasn't wearing anything but boxer shorts, and his hair was damp. Drops of water covered his shoulders.

She shook her head sharply. "No, I'm awake!" Charlotte pulled her hand from Dean's as gently as she could without making it look like she just needed to stop touching him. He was still smiling when she shifted herself away from him on the bed. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it," he replied softly. Dean Winchester was completely unguarded, looking at her with a crooked smile. She could almost convince herself that this was the world without demons, that Dean didn't carry a wounded little boy inside.

But he did. So all she could do was smile back and say, "You're a brave man, Dean Winchester."

"Yeah, I'm brave. I defeated the rampaging shaving cream monster with nothing but a towel," he returned, giving her a weird look.

"I've been known to hit people in my sleep when they come too close," Charlotte explained. "When I was in the hospital, I used to hit one of my nurses all the time when she came in to give me my medication. Usually with my right elbow."

"I think I can take a scrawny redhead."

"I am not scrawny!" Charlotte exclaimed. Dean grinned. She was turning bright red, and then Charlotte saw how delicate her hand was compared to his – and the faded scar on the top of his hand, starting at the base of the thumb. She brushed the length of it with her fingers, the undercurrent of tension flowing underneath his skin. _What the hell am I doing? _ She pulled her hand away. "Well, maybe a little," Charlotte added. "But it's relative, isn't it? You're a midget compared to Sam."

"Thanks," Dean returned wryly. "I'm feeling the love."

"I _did_ appreciate your daring rescue, Dean." Charlotte looked him right in the eyes. "Do you have any shaving cream?"

"Yeah…" Dean's voice trailed off. His eyes were wild, and he was bursting with the need again to just do something.

"We should fill up the left sleeve of his jacket with shaving cream before he gets out of the shower." Charlotte started to get off the bed as Dean's eyes continued to glitter and his mouth crooked up again.

"Sit!" Dean hissed. He made a half-hearted gesture and stood quickly, nearly sprinting to his duffel bag.

_Did he just tell me to stay on the bed?_ "You jerk!" Charlotte tried to follow suit, wobbling on her feet. _Crap._ She fell back onto the bed. "I'm not a puppy, Dean!"

"Lucky for me. You're housebroken," Dean returned with a chuckle. _What a prick!_ He was already fumbling in his duffel. "But why the left sleeve, Charlie?" he asked. The question was important to him; of course, Dean spoke Winchester – maybe telling her she was housebroken was high praise.

"Sam always puts his arm into the right sleeve first," Charlotte returned slowly, watching his face. She stayed on the edge of the bed, just in case she needed to stall Sam in the bathroom. "So he won't be expecting anything on the left."

Dean whistled. "We might make a Hunter out of you yet. That's a fair observation for a girl barely two weeks on the road," he said, shooting her another grin. Dean cut her off before she could protest. "I know, I know," he added. "You've got no intention of doing it, blah blah blah. It's not your Calling, blah blah blah. You're getting a doctorate, blah blah blah." Dean pulled the shaving cream out of his bag. "I _do_ listen when you're talking, Charlie."

"The blah blah blah really drove that point home, Dean."

"Thought you'd appreciate my attention to detail," he said. Dean was spraying the shaving cream up the sleeve of Sam's jacket. He stopped and then sprayed some more with a satisfied grin. Charlotte watched while he rearranged the jacket to look like Sam had just thrown it over the chair. He was wound up inside, just waiting to explode – using some stupid practical joke as a way to not think about the little girl getting eaten alive.

"But_ you_ forgot something, Charlie," he added. Dean put the can back into his duffel, and zipped it up. The water in the shower stopped. "You have to make it look like you've been tagged, or Sam will still be suspicious." Dean gestured to the towel next to her on the comforter, lowering his voice. "As soon as you hear that door open, you whip out that towel an –"

The door opened. Charlotte already had the towel on her face, pretending to pat it. "I am killing you, Sam Winchester!" she yelped. _Maybe that's a little over the top. _"I snorted shaving cream up my nose!" Sam chuckled. _He bought it!_ "Lucky for me that your brother had a towel, or I'd be blind right now." Even Dean was laughing.

"I thought Dean would warn you," Sam said. Charlotte pulled down the towel as the younger Winchester sat next to her on the bed. Between Dean prancing around in his boxer shorts and Sam wrapped in a towel that left little to the imagination, Charlotte was beginning to think that they spent most of their free time half-naked in a motel room. _Claymation! _"Ready to give up?" Sam asked. His green-blue eyes were serious.

"Because you managed to spray shaving cream on my hand when I was asleep?" Charlotte grinned. "You're going to have to do a lot better than that, Sam."

"Looks like Cowgirl here has a backbone," Dean interjected. Two pairs of eyes whipped in his direction. He was sliding into a pair of jeans, buttoning it as they both watched. "You might have met your match, Sammy," the eldest Winchester added, smirking at his little brother. Dean felt Charlotte's frown, and he glanced off-handedly at her. "What? Bring it on, sweetheart."

The man was a _prick_ – even when he was trying to _help_ her. Why the hell was _she_ trying to help him, anyway.

_Because you were Called, Charlie_.

Charlotte frowned. "I'm going to freshen up," she said, struggling to get off the bed. It was Sam who lent his hand to help her up. Dean snorted the moment he heard the phrase 'freshen up' – just like he did whenever she said it. Charlotte pulled her clothes out of her duffel bag as Sam glared pointedly at Dean. _Another damn message in Winchester._ Sam deliberately turned his back on his older brother, and Dean winked at her. _I'm an idiot. _Charlotte shuffled into the bathroom, shaking her head as she closed the door.

Sam hadn't done anything to the bathroom – Charlotte checked every place she could think to look for something, and shrugged her shoulders. The green iPod was in the bathroom, happily enough, so she turned it on – AC/DC blaring out of the speakers it was plugged into, which meant that Dean had been playing around with it again. She opted for something a little more soothing, and started washing her hair – kneeling over the side of the tub with an ice bucket.

_Don't know how I got here, and I don't know why I stay.  
The poets all around are laughing in their graves –  
Must be something that I said.  
This place is not like anything I've seen before.  
The spirits move around, the houses have no doors –  
But I'm getting used to it._

Sam and Dean were both staring in the direction of the bathroom when she opened the door. Sam looked horrified, white around the edges of his eyes. Dean was trying not to laugh out loud when Charlotte stepped into the room, and his eyes flickered guiltily towards Sam. Her cheeks burned. She knew she couldn't sing. She knew it. That wasn't going to keep her from trying.

"So, Sammy, you going to shut up for the next three days?" Dean asked. Sam grunted and shook his head, and then glanced at her. _What the hell?_ Dean snorted. "Well, then, tough titties, little brother."

"You suck, Dean," Sam said.

"I'm not even sure I _want_ to understand Winchester," Charlotte muttered, putting her dirty clothes into the laundry bag. She shifted her body so they couldn't get a glimpse of her underwear as she shoved it as far down as it could go in the bag.

"What did you say?" They asked it simultaneously, almost like they practiced it. Two pairs of eyes staring at her like she had just discovered the Rosetta Stone, before gaping at each other in perfect unison. Charlotte held back a laugh, imagining the conversation that had just passed between them. _Oh my God, Dean – a girl is starting to **understand** Winchester! Damn it, Sammy, **no** freaking girl is supposed to understand Winchester; if I find out she knows the secret handshake, I'm kicking your ass._

Charlotte smiled, covering the scar on her arm with her right hand – she'd forgotten to get a sweater before she went into the bathroom. "At least you're both dressed," she said, ignoring the question completely. "It's almost time to meet Arlene for breakfast."

"Yeah." Dean's eyes lowered. "About that, Sammy. I was thinking that maybe you and Girl Genius should talk to the brother, and I'll start scouting out the town." He scratched underneath his left ear, and Charlotte's stomach clenched. "Maybe check out the local library and research symptoms that match the victims."

"You just had to do research instead of sleeping, didn't you?" Sam asked lightly.

"Charlie made me do it," Dean retorted. "Said she couldn't sleep and I was too much of a gentleman to let her stay up by herself." She whipped her head around so quickly to glare at him that the wet hair slapping into her face actually stung a little.

"Yeah, I can tell that's _exactly_ how it played out." Sam crossed his arms. "So what did you find out?"

Dean shrugged his shoulders. "Pretty common problems with sleep deprivation." He picked up the notepad they had left on the table. "High fever. Irritability. Chronic Fatigue. Delusions. Red eyes. Body aches."

"Well that makes sense. They feed on dreams." Sam nodded, and then grinned. "So basically you're trying to avoid breakfast with Arlene and her brother to research people with sleep deprivation?" Dean didn't say anything. Sam shook his head as he chuckled at his own joke.

"Laugh it up, fuzzball," Dean said shortly, stalking to the closet and pulling his leather jacket off a hanger.

Charlotte stifled a laugh, and pulled a sweater out of her duffel bag to match her dress. She was hobbling across the room to get her crutches when Dean handed them to her. She almost jumped when his hand brushed hers; he was hot as an electric wire.

"Blow me, Dean," Sam began. His older brother gave him a sharp look and Sam closed his mouth. Sam whipped his right arm into his jacket, followed up almost immediately by the left. "What the fuck!" Sam's left hand emerged through the cuff, covered in shaving cream. Blue-green eyes whipped in Charlotte's direction, and Sam looked totally flabbergasted. "You suck, Charlotte." His face contorted, and then Sam started laughing. "But you got me." Suddenly his eyes were serious, intense. "Can we call a truce until after we find the girl?" Sam asked.

"Scared I'm going to slip something into your apple juice?" Charlotte retorted. But he was right. Jacob would probably smack her if he found out what she was doing – even if it was only to help Sam Winchester.

"No." The worry came off of Sam in waves. "I just think the little girl is important," he added. He pulled off his shirt and jacket all at once, wiping the remainder of the shaving cream into the bundle of clothes. "We don't need any distractions."

"And she's one of us," Charlotte returned softly, averting her eyes while Sam pulled on another t-shirt from his duffel bag. Sam grabbed a blue hoodie from the bag before zipping it. "But are you going to be…" Her voice trailed off.

Sam nodded. "Yeah."

"Then we'll pick this up when she's been rescued," Charlotte said, smiling. She brought herself up on her crutches, started walking for the door.

"You guys are wusses!" Dean's voice interjected. "When Dad and I were pulling practical jokes on each other, we'd never have agreed to a truce! Job or no job!" But he seemed relieved.

"Are you saying that you want in after we find the girl?" Sam asked. He opened the door. "Think you can show us young whippersnappers how it's done?"

"Don't make me kick your ass, Sam." Dean snorted.

"Last time I checked, Dean, I won the last Winchester war," Sam retorted. They were out of the room by now, walking down the outside hallway to the stairs.

"That was luck!" Dean yelped.

"It took skill!" Sam replied.

"You super-glued a freaking beer bottle to my hand, Sammy. That was luck."

"You didn't realize I had slapped the side of that beer bottle with super-glue, Dean. It took skill."

The argument continued – loudly – as Charlotte followed them down the stairs. One young mother covered her son's ears when Dean loudly declared that he had no skin left on his palm at one point, but both she and the man Charlotte assumed was her husband were grinning from ear-to-ear as they listened to the Winchesters rail on each other. They weren't self-conscious about it, either – joking at the top of their lungs, arguing about that goddamn beer bottle. Acting like brothers.

She sighed. Charlotte didn't have a family like that, for all that the Circle said otherwise. The Winchesters didn't care about power. They didn't control each other through fear. They laughed together – she'd never had one afternoon with her mother where that happened. Even when Celeste Webb was dying, she couldn't let the mask she hid behind, the knowledge that she was Circle-trained, slip just long enough to laugh with her own daughter.

"Hey, front seat." Sam's voice interrupted her thoughts, and he tapped Charlotte on her shoulder. She was standing next to the back seat.

"Excuse me?" She blinked.

"You're sitting up front with me," Dean said. "Your cast, remember?" He actually waggled his eyebrows, unlocking the door for her. Now that they were finally doing something, Dean was relaxed – still on edge, but not shooting sparks through her entire head. Sam took her crutches. "And I'll even let you pick the tunes," Dean added.

"What?" Sam yelped as she slid into the front seat. Dean shoved a shoebox full of cassette tapes into her hands before shutting the door.

"You didn't know the first-time shotgun rule?" Dean returned.

"No," Sam returned evenly as Charlotte started rummaging through the shoebox. "The only rule I know is '_Driver picks the tunes, shotgun shuts his cakehole'_, you asshole."

"The first-time shotgun rule only works for chicks," Dean said, unlocking his door and slipping in next to Charlotte on the front seat.

"Chicks?" Sam's screech was at least an octave higher than his normal speaking voice.

"With the hair, you _probably_ qualify as a chick, Samantha." Dean chuckled as he slammed his door shut, turned the key in the ignition. "But you had a crew-cut the first time your bony ass sat next to me while I was driving."

"Screw you, Dean."

"Bite me, Sam."

"Found it." Charlotte pulled out a battered copy of Credence Clearwater Revival's _Chronicle_ – the title was barely recognizable – and handed it to Dean. He slipped it into the cassette deck. "Your brother forgot to mention the condition to the first-time shotgun rule," Charlotte added, twisting a little to look back at Sam. Dean started humming "Susie Q" as he rolled his car out onto the road.

"Do I want to know any condition my brother puts on a rule?" Sam asked. But he was grinning at her.

"I asked him if he had any Credence," Charlotte said. She shrugged her shoulders. Her father loved to sing Credence in the morning while he was cooking breakfast – the one band she wouldn't put on her iPods because it usually hurt too much to hear their songs. _But today…_ "It's been awhile since I heard it," she added. Charlotte turned to look out the front window.

"Hey, Charlie. Do you know all the words?" Dean glanced at Sam in the rearview mirror. Charlotte shifted just enough to see Sam shaking his head vehemently, sliding his finger across his throat.

"Subtle," Charlotte muttered.

"You really can't sing," Sam said, and it sounded like an apology.

"Still won't keep me from trying, Sam Winchester. Music is in my blood." Charlotte was watching him again, and her mouth twisted. Sam's eyes widened as he looked at her. "Armaros led choirs of angels in song, with a voice so pure that only the innocent could hear it sing."

"So you must be one hell of a sinner," Dean interjected. Sam smacked his older brother across the back of the head. "Fuck you, Sam!" Dean bellowed, ducking his head. "I'm driving."

"For once, your brother made an astute observation," Charlotte added, mouth twitching. Dean Winchester could be damn funny. "When Armaros fell, it damned itself. Lost its voice, and not being able to sing is its constant torment." She wrapped her arms around her stomach. It wasn't funny anymore. "Each member of the Twelve carries the mark of God's final curse. Even if Shemhezai ascends, Armaros will never be able to sing again. So I can't, either."

"That doesn't mean you're Armaros!" Sam's blue-green eyes were fierce, and he put a hand on her shoulder. Charlotte didn't even try to shrug it off. The boy with the demon inside. _Always trying to help the rest of us._

"No," she replied, leaning her arm against the seat as she watched Sam. "But it means that I might be." She smiled softly, remembering her father's rumpled brown hair. The crinkles around his eyes when he laughed. "My daddy used to tell me to keep practicing, because one day I'll Awaken and Armaros will never be able to get inside. And then I'll be able to sing."

"You will." Sam's voice was almost a whisper, but his eyes were shining. The soft glow of the Ziv Zakai. Charlotte blinked, and his eyes were just the way she always remembered them.

Dean's voice was gruff. "Until then, we'll just have to get drunk and listen to your caterwauling."

"I'm even more off-pitch when I'm drunk," she said.

Dean glanced at her sideways, crooked smile. "Is that even possible?" She giggled, which startled both brothers – shock squeezing Charlotte from both of them.

"I'm not about to test the theory," Sam added. He pressed his hand on her shoulder as the sign for the diner came into view. Charlotte brought her hand up to brush his before he pulled it away completely.

Nothing happened. No shocking sparks. No demon pushing itself inside of her. Just the touch of Sam Winchester's hand – and a crooked smile that reminded her of his older brother.

Arlene was already waiting for them in front of _Betty's_ – a rundown building with clapboard walls, and faded blue awnings over its dusty windows. Arlene was dressed in a tank top and a skirt so short that you wouldn't have to guess the color of her underwear when she sat down, walking easily on stiletto heels. And as soon as Dean was out of the car, slamming his door shut, the blonde nearly skipped to him – grabbing his shirt by the collar and pulling him down for a kiss. From the looks of it, she kissed pretty well.

Dean put his hands on Arlene's upper arms and pushed. Whatever Arlene was saying, it didn't reach the inside of the car. Sam leaned forward to whisper in Charlotte's ear. "That's for saving me last night from those icky flying monsters," the youngest Winchester said in a falsetto. "How can I repay you?"

Charlotte giggled, hiding her mouth behind her hand. Dean scratched underneath his left ear, mouth pursed, as he said something back. "I'm a Winchester," Charlotte whispered back towards Sam, trying to pitch her voice low. "It's what I do."

Arlene smiled, leaning in to ask Dean a question with a coquettish tilt to her head. "Does your little soldier turn blue?" Sam somehow managed to ask the question for Arlene without laughing.

"There's nothing little about it, sweetheart," she said in a rush to get the words out. Charlotte exploded with another round of giggles, hand clamped over her mouth to subdue the sound. Dean had raised his eyebrows, cocky smile on his face. He was shaking his head. "Nothing little about it at all," Charlotte added.

Sam burst out laughing at that. "You so have my brother pegged." Charlotte was leaning against the back of the seat again to look at Sam. He twisted his mouth in a semblance of a smile. "I'm sorry you had to see that, Charlotte."

"Why?"

"Well, because…" Sam's voice trailed off. "You slept with him. And you're still here."

"We were poisoned by a succubus, Sam. I'd hardly call that the basis for a relationship." Charlotte lowered her eyes. "You and Dean have a hard job, and he deals with it differently than you do." She wouldn't tell Sam that Dean had memories that burned inside, memories he kept locked beneath the sarcasm and the steady stream of women he screwed using someone else's last name. That was for Dean to tell. "Different isn't better, but it isn't worse."

"But – " There was something inside of him that Sam felt Charlotte should know; he was nearly bursting with the secret of it. _Dean._

"Sam, I'm not the kind of girl who walks into a room and gets noticed, so when someone – " Charlotte sighed, pushing her glasses up as she rubbed her eyes. Why was this coming out all wrong? Maybe because masks cracked. Maybe so he could see that she didn't have all the answers, that she was just as scared as they were. Or maybe it was because he was just looking at her, with blue-green eyes. The boy with the demon inside, wanting to save them all. "But your brother – " _is the reason I'm here. _Called for him – twice in one day. First in the car, and then on the roof.

And there was something coming so quick now, she could feel it in the air. Could breathe it in. Why couldn't she just come out and say it? _I keep getting Called, and it's always for your brother. _Charlotte caught Sam's eyes with her own. Why didn't she just say it? _We're all standing in the middle of something so big, it scares me. And when I get scared, I run._ She wanted to go back to yesterday, when Dean was calling her Cowgirl and Sam was pouring sugar on her spaghetti.

_Life spins on a dime, Charlie. The trick is figuring out how to dance. _

Charlotte jumped as something cracked into the window. Dean was drumming on the window with his knuckles, and there was still time to tell Sam _something_ but hell if she knew how.

Charlotte unlocked the door instead, and Dean whipped it open. "You two look pretty serious," Dean said, his voice too bright for the look in his eyes. He didn't even wait for Charlotte to extend her hand; he just reached in and pulled her out, steadying her as she wobbled on the sidewalk. It smelled like storm clouds in the sky when he touched her.

"Are you okay?" Charlotte asked softly.

"Things just didn't work out," Dean said. He was almost shaking, and the air seemed to shimmer around him. And then she was blocked – an iron wall so tight, nothing came out of Dean Winchester. "Her brother's waiting for us inside," Dean added.

Charlotte didn't say anything else as Sam handed her the crutches but she could still feel the sharpness in the air, so strong it slithered through cracks in her shields. A blonde man a couple of years older than Arlene was standing at a table near the back, waving his arm at them.

When she sat down, though, Dean automatically slid into the booth next to her. He brushed her shoulder with his arm when he reached for the menu. Another look passed between the brothers – something so simple that Arlene's brother didn't even realize it had happened while he introduced himself to them. But Charlotte understood the message all the same.

_Time to get to work._

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A/N:

Slower than I intended initially – between pacing and execution (being a week out from my usually posting deadline) – but it just didn't want to come out quickly in any fashion this time around. There's a fair warning, though: this is the calm before the storm, folks. There is much whumpage coming. When Aaron talks, everyone should listen. ;-P

Not many fangirl moments, but I think it's pretty obvious what I was watching this week besides _Supernatural_.

The title is a song by Oingo Boingo. But it was a toss-up between "Lost Like This" and "Up Around the Bend." The legend of Credence Clearwater Revival looms large within the story. ;-P

As for the rest, you know the drill: Criticism always welcome. (In fact, I encourage it!) And comments are the things that make my dizzy brain happy.


	10. Comfortably Numb

This is set sometime after the end of Season 1. While it doesn't break canon to my knowledge, it is definitely AU. The boys learn the consequences of crossing the thing terrorizing Madison, and Sam can't do jack when everything starts falling apart. The only thing he does know is that the little girl they're trying to save is screwed.

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Disclaimer: The Winchester boys aren't mine. The Colt isn't mine. Wish the car was mine. But I can only blame myself for the Circle of Enoch.

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Charlotte Webb, OMC (Tony), OMC (Father Stephen Caldwell), OFC (Ginny Hawkins)

Rating: PG-13 ( Dean, as always, likes to swear; this time around, though, everyone's doing it. Some adult themes regarding abuse. Oh, and cups of steaming angst.)

Summary: Sometimes things get so broken, they can never be fixed.

Feedback: Absolutely! Concrit is always welcome!

Miscellaneous: As always, this would not have been possible without the brilliance of JMM0001, who can always keep a girl laughing with her notes – even when pointing out your POV issues. Much thanks to wenchpixie, who beta'd not one but _two_ of my chapters this week in two wholly _different_ stories, all the while remaining her radiant self. Both acted as my betas for this chapter. The good parts are because of them. The bad parts are all me.

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**Chapter Nine: Comfortably Numb**

One night stands were supposed to be simple things.

The Winchesters would breeze into town, and Dean would find the nearest bar at the earliest available opportunity. He'd get laid, blow off some steam and head back to work with his mind focused on the job. No ties and no complications. Sure, Dean had a need for human contact – and nights spent in the arms of some beautiful girl he'd never see again were all Dean required. The last time Dean stuck around longer than a couple of nights, it went to hell, and he wasn't going through the whole Cassie thing again with a different chick. Ever.

Sammy never really understood that – he believed in things like love and fairy tales; hell, Sam was reading some hinky book by that same touchy-feely guy who wrote _The Bridge Across Forever_ – an old paperback that Dad lugged around wherever he went. He'd asked Dad about it once, and all Dad did was hand him the book. Dean couldn't get past the first chapter, and he wouldn't be surprised if Sam had a copy of the book, too – Sammy was still mourning Jessica Moore the way Dad mourned Mom. And the look in his brother's eyes when he thought about her was just one of many reasons why Dean Winchester was a no-commitment kind of guy.

But women like Arlene always tried to break the rules.

Dean hadn't seen it coming until the waitress started kissing him. The first thing that popped into his head was that Sam and Charlie could see the whole thing, so Dean pushed Arlene away and tried to downplay her enthusiasm. But damn if the waitress couldn't kiss a man, even if her breath tasted like stale cigarettes. Arlene had wanted to see him again – _to finish what we started_, she said with a cute little tilt to her head; the offer to pick up where they left off in the alley _might_ have even been tempting if Dean didn't feel Arlene's urgency deep inside.

Thanks to the goddamned redhead showing up, Dean was more aware of that crap. So when Arlene _said_ she understood that Dean was just passing through, that all she wanted was for him to kiss her back, what Dean _felt_ was a frantic search for some kind of connection. The waitress actually thought the handsome stranger who rode into town on the wind and then left when it changed direction was a good catch – that somehow she could tame him and make him stay. Dean Winchester didn't _want_ to connect with a woman, and there was no way in hell anyone could tame him by morning.

Dean just didn't get people. Sure, he helped them. He'd nearly died for some of them, and he'd do it again – especially now; the world was bigger than he or Sam ever thought it was. But Dean could count the people who had his back on one hand. Sammy. Dad. Bobby, maybe. Missouri, probably – except women always wanted to complicate things, and Missouri never stopping riding him about the shit he didn't even _say_ out loud. _Goddamn psychics._

One woman complicated things a hell of a lot more than the others these days – even when she was trying to help. Maybe especially when she was. The whole plan to meet her halfway sucked rocks.

Charlie was sitting right next to him, studying her menu with the same serious expression that crossed her face whenever she was reading – and the menu at _Betty's_ wasn't one of the Dead Sea Scrolls. The damn girl had stayed up most of the night with him; and when Charlie finally fell asleep, Dean couldn't stop the guilty pricks on the back of his neck when he realized she was having a nightmare. Charlie was already pushing herself too hard, so anxious to prove that she wasn't her mother's daughter. And the way she looked, Dean knew that Charlie was trying to prove that to her father.

At least Dad was still alive.

Dean heard his father in the back of his head. _When you get that desperate, Dean, you get sloppy. _And Charlie really was – desperate for someone to tell her she was doing a good job. Desperate to show that she could help them, despite the fact that she looked like she was getting ready to run – which was another reason why he should be focusing his attention on the goddamn conversation, instead of watching Charlie read a freaking menu. How could you trust a girl who was more skittish than a jackrabbit? Charlie was only just holding on by her fingernails. Dean could see it in her eyes.

Except that look changed whenever Dean mentioned the little girl – turned from desperation to determination, and Dean knew Charlotte Webb would do whatever was necessary to help him keep that little girl from being eaten alive. She'd do whatever she thought was necessary to help him keep Sam safe from the monster in his little brother's belly. And she'd just continue hurting herself to help _him_ – the ache of that little girl was so strong that Dean was barely keeping himself together; even focusing on the job hadn't kept the aftershocks of his vision from slamming into the back of his head, couldn't keep his fingers from itching to be on their way. But whenever it go so bad Dean felt like his skin would burst, he'd turn around and Charlie was there.

And Dean didn't like how she looked when she touched him. Because Charlie might be able to hide that from Sam, but Dean knew the truth. The feelings of other people _hurt_ her. He remembered what happened when Charlie caught a flash of someone while just eating dinner. Being near him for the last twelve hours must have been a slow torment – which was another reason why Charlotte Webb was a complication Dean Winchester didn't need.

He reached for his menu, brushing her shoulder with his arm.

_Goddamnit, Winchester. Do your freaking job!_

Sam had already taken control of the conversation, smiling at Arlene's older brother with the same calculated grin that got reduced rates at most motels. "My name is Simon," Sam said by way of introduction. "Simon LeBon." He shook Tony's hand enthusiastically. A smile flittered across Charlie's face when she heard the name. _Fuck me._ It was probably a lead singer or something for one of those crappy ass bands she and Sam liked to listen to when Sam was driving the car. "And this is my colleague, Nick Rhodes," Sam added, gesturing towards Dean. Charlie ducked behind her menu, trying to hide her twitching mouth. That _really_ wasn't a good sign.

"Nice to meet you, Simon." Tony inclined his head. "And you, too, Nick." And then he was grinning towards Charlie. "Who is the little lady?"

Dean did not like the look, but Charlie was extending a hand politely. "My name is Charlotte," she responded with a small smile. Dean took a deep breath when their hands met – waiting for her face to tighten as something pushed past that gossamer around her – but nothing happened. The little girl flashed against the back of his eyelids, instead, dark eyes wide as Death cut into her flesh. Charlie's shoulders shook. "Charlotte Angell. Your sister didn't mention me, did she?" Charlie asked.

Charlie glanced at Dean sideways, her gray eyes sparkling with a dare. _Charlie Angell?_ Dean tried not to smile; they were on a freaking job, and she was cracking jokes. She'd done that deliberately – at least he didn't burst out laughing because _that_ would have set Arlene's brother at ease. Even Sam had a smile flickering across his face when he realized what Charlie had said. And then light turned on inside of her. _Oh, hell no… She's using her Gift on this jerk!_

"Nope. I would have remembered if she had mentioned a cute filly like you," the man replied. Dean wanted to punch the gap between Tony's teeth even wider for the second look he gave Charlie; the little hick was trying to figure out what Charlie looked like underneath her granny sweater. "Just told me I'd be meeting some newspaper men from Atlanta about the monsters we've been seeing around the church," Arlene's brother added.

"I'm what you would call a cub reporter," she said. "The boys here are showing me the ropes." Charlie seemed to sink within herself, and she gestured with her head submissively towards Sam; Dean knew it was a lie, but he almost half-believed her himself after Charlie's body language kicked in. There was one strand of gossamer flickering around Tony's hand, still connected to her. Just like he'd seen with the cop, and then with Arlene when Charlie was calming her down the night before.

"You boys aren't actually from the local hospital, are you?" Tony asked suddenly, scratching his upper arm furtively. "Folks keep telling me I'm crazy for coming out with what I saw."

"Absolutely not. This story is important to something else we're investigating," Sam replied, his voice shifting into its lower tones. "We think it's connected to a little girl's disappearance." He leaned in closer, but was interrupted by the waitress stopping by to take their order.

Tony said that he'd already eaten breakfast, but he recommended _Betty's _Blue Plate Special, so both Dean and Sam ordered one. Charlie asked for biscuits and gravy with a side of sausage – she really seemed to like sausage in the morning – and extra toast. And the look Charlie gave him when she asked for extra strawberry jam made something sputter in Dean's stomach. The same pop he felt when Charlie traced the scar on his hand with her fingers.

_Crap on a stick!_

Dean snapped his head once, sharp. _Concentrate on the gig!_ He swallowed. "So, when did you boys first start seeing the monsters?" Dean asked. He would have asked more, but he realized Charlie had pulled out a notebook, and was diligently taking notes.

"Last week," Tony replied. "The first night we thought it was just because we were drunk, but when they kept showing up – and more folks could see them – we figured we weren't as crazy as everyone thought we were."

"Are they always around the church?" Sam asked. "They don't show up anywhere else?"

"Nope, always five or six just swooping around St. Joe's bell tower. About twice that many near where the priest sleeps." Tony took a sip of his coffee, blowing a little on the cup to cool it down. "Lazy little bastards. They didn't like it when the bells would ring, though."

_Bells? What the hell?_ Even Sam looked confused by that one but Charlie continued writing. "Do other loud noises disturb them? Like a car engine firing?" Dean asked.

"Not that I remember." Tony grinned. "We were too bombed to tell. And there aren't many loud cars most nights. Maybe on the weekends."

"Did anything else agitate them? Like a bright light, or a weird smell?" Sam grinned at Dean. His little brother had remembered to sneak in a question about the Ziv Za-crap.

"Only light in the area came from the street lights," the man replied, pursing his lips thoughtfully. "Arlene was going on about some kind of blue light, and she seemed real agitated by it. Said she saw the gargoyles, too. That's why I'm here. My little sister finally believed in me about something." Tony chuckled. "Guess it was good for me that she wasn't drunk when she had her 'experience' with them."

Charlie coughed. "Did you ever see where they came from?" She asked the question softly.

Tony rolled his eyes. "From the church, little lady. They're gargoyles. St. Joe's is covered in them." He leaned forward and patted Charlie on the hand. "You should let these boys ask the questions. Pretty little thing like you should be meeting me afterwards for a drink." The strand shimmered, pulsing, and Charlie's jaw clenched. "I'd take real good care of you," the hick added.

"I don't doubt that," she replied softly. Charlie put both hands in her lap, and only Dean could see she was squeezing them together so hard her nails were leaving indentations in her skin. And when Tony smiled at her, his eyes narrowed into slits; Dean knew what the jerk was thinking, could see it reflected in Charlie's eyes. Actually got a flash of emotion so strong it brought a visual. The goddamn hick wanted to fuck her, and he was going to hurt her while he was doing it. Dean wanted to puke – and he hadn't even gotten his breakfast. _And I bet she sees crap like that all the time._

Sam coughed, and Tony's eyes swayed towards him. "Anything else you remember?"

"We were drunk, man, and I was feeling good thanks to a little brunette I took into the back room at _Joe's_." And the man was grinning at Charlie again. "Gargoyles started showing up around the Church last week. Don't know why. Maybe it's the season for them?" Tony shrugged his shoulders. "But they really like the priest's place," he added.

"The Rectory?" Sam provided. Tony nodded. "And the priest's name?" his little brother asked.

"Stephen Caldwell," Tony said simply. "Been on the job for about a month after the old pastor went crazy."

Charlie's head slumped forward, but she caught herself. She looked like she was going to throw up, took a deep breath while Sam and Tony laughed at a joke. She raised her head. "Has anyone else in town talked about a missing girl?" Charlie asked.

Tony shifted in his seat, staring at his coffee cup on the table. "Folks never mentioned it to me." His voice was soft, and a wall slammed up fast inside of the hick.

Dean glowered at Charlie. _Subtle, sweetheart. Real freaking subtle._ "We're also doing a story on a little black girl, about eight years old. She went missing after her folks saw the same kind of creatures flying around her bedroom window," he said. It sounded plausible. "Been gone for about a week or so," Dean added. "Charlotte's been taking that story a little too _personally_."

"Oh." Tony lowered his eyes. "Didn't realize…" His voice trailed off, and he smelled guilty as sin, like those Benders back in Minnesota – but Dean would bet money it had nothing to do about the little girl in the vision. "No, I don't know anything about a little colored girl who went missing." He snorted. "Look, it's been real nice talking to you city folk, but I've got to head into the garage," Tony added, flashing another grin at Charlie while he pulled some change out of his pocket. "You change your mind, little lady, I'll be at _Joe's_ after I get off work."

"Thanks for your time," Sam said as Tony slid out of the booth, raising a hand in farewell. As soon as Tony was out of earshot, he looked back at Charlie. She had lowered her head, looking faintly sick. "Another vision?" he asked quietly.

"She was using her mojo," Dean said evenly. "Saw something that made her sick." He still wanted to vomit.

Sam was all concern, reaching forward to touch Charlie's hand. "You okay?"

"I thought I could help," Charlie said softly.

"Well, you didn't," Dean hissed. "Tony might have said something if you had kept your mouth shut about the girl."

"I panicked," she returned, and it looked like she had a hard time admitting that. "That man is sick. You have no idea the things he wanted to do to me!" Charlie's voice hardened as she said it, but her arms were wrapped around her stomach. She lowered her head, hair falling forward. He almost reached forward to pull it behind her ear, but caught the searching look on Sam's face and frowned.

"Got some idea," Dean said with a shrug. "I've got eyes." _And I've been feeling your stomach turn itself inside out._ "But you wouldn't have a fucking clue what goes on in that freak's head if you minded your own goddamn business. This is _our_ job." He waved a hand at Sam. "You shouldn't be using your Gift!" She was hurting herself – and now Charlie felt like broken glass inside. And the fact that he actually knew that made him even sicker. _I can't do my job like this._

Charlie's mouth tightened. "Why not? It's my Gift to use."

Not when it fucks up a Winchester job," Dean retorted. _And not when it hurts you, Charlie._ But he'd never tell her that. "Why the hell would you think that crap could _help_?"

The redhead jerked as though he'd punched her in the stomach, arms pulling even more tightly around her abdomen. "Because you told me you needed all the help you could get," Charlie said softly. "And I'm only good at two things, Dean."

_And I'm taking all of that away from you. _The way she was holding herself just made him ache. "Yeah, you're so fucking good you scared away the only witness we could talk to," Dean snapped. Even Sam looked like he was in pain, and he was just watching Charlie. He wasn't the asshole who made her look like that – even if it was better for both of them. _All_ of them. Dean couldn't protect Sammy when he was worried about Charlie. Let alone the little girl he needed to save.

"You're right. I just mess things up." Charlie tried to smile at him, tried to smile at Sam, before lowering her eyes. "But you won't have to worry, Dean. I won't mess up anymore." She swallowed, trying to apologize with her eyes. "There's Mass at noon; I saw the sign as we passed by the church. I can wait for both of you at St. Joseph's," she added. Sam opened his mouth to protest, but Charlie just shook her head. "The Circle can't hurt me in a church, Sam. It's holy ground, Winchester." The last sentence came out with a Scottish accent, and Dean almost smiled because Charlie liked _Highlander_. But he couldn't. "And I'm good at not being seen," she added, her voice so tiny in her throat.

"Like running away to a church will fix your stupid mistakes," he snapped. Dean saw the look in her eyes – he had blown it. Reminding her about running away only made her eyes harden, and Dean knew she'd stay if he apologized, that she'd continue putting herself into situations where she'd get hurt just to help Dean Winchester save a little girl he didn't even know was real. _I have to fix this._ He snorted, moving to stand next to the booth. "I'll let you in on a little secret, sweetheart. The last person we need help from on this gig is the brain trust who decided she could save the world with a book bag and a glowing sword."

"The same brain trust _you_ asked to help _Sam_," Charlie snapped as she scooted out of the booth. "I should have just left, instead of – " She ripped a piece of paper off of her notepad and shoved it into Dean's chest hard enough to push him backwards. She turned abruptly away from him and whipped the crutches into her hands. "I'll be at the church, Sam." Every shimmering strand she had was pulled so tightly, Charlie looked like she was wrapped in gauze. "Do you want your cell phone back, Dean," she asked.

"Keep it," he said, staring at her shoulders. Dean had to ignore the strange hiccupping noise Charlie was making as she breathed, or he wouldn't be able to finish what he started. "You just sit tight in that church and wait for us," Dean added. "Can you at least handle _that_?"

"I'll even _stay_ in a pew like a well-trained _puppy_," Charlie said, her voice a throbbing ache. She didn't turn around to look at him. Just said her piece and walked towards the front door. She pulled out a little money from her purse, and handed it to their waitress at the counter.

His little brother's breathing was rough, and Sammy looked at Dean reproachfully. "What?" Dean demanded.

"The only thing I want to do right now is hit you with a fucking clue by four." Sam's eyes were hard, and his cheeks both had bright red spots on them. Dean didn't even remember the last time Sam was this pissed at him – maybe when they fought before the whole scarecrow fiasco. "Are you at least going to tell me _why_ you did it, Dean?"

"It was necessary, Sam. Charlie was only getting in the way. You saw how she scared off Tony." Dean shrugged his shoulders. The paper Charlie had slammed into his chest was on the floor. "It's better for all of us. It's not like she can actually help on the gig. Charlie's an amateur. Besides, we dragged her along on this. She never wanted to _hunt_. I just did a favor and gave her the easy out."

"Anything to help you sleep at night, right?" Sam returned, sarcastic to the last. He leaned down to snatch up the paper Charlie had given them before Dean could read it. His little brother spread it out on the table in front of him, smoothing it against the formica. Sam shook his head and chuckled. "I know I promised," he muttered. "But you're – " Sam recoiled as he caught himself.

"What's wrong with you?"

Sam shoved the paper in Dean's direction. "My brother's an asshole. _That's_ what's wrong with me." He snorted. "And she might be an amateur, but the girl asks all the right questions. Even _you'll_ have to admit that," Sammy added.

Dean stared at Charlie's tiny handwriting marching across the page, neat and meticulous. She had marked places where Tony was lying – like when he said they were drunk the first night they saw them – and where he was telling the truth. _He really didn't know anything about the little girl._ She had put a question mark near the location of the sightings, and circled the comment about the freaks who hung out near the Rectory. Charlie had made a note to herself about researching noise – and bells in specific – once she got back to the room and had access to her research material. And Sammy was right. She did ask all the right questions – was the priest summoning the monsters, or was he the victim.

"Charlotte picked up on the priest, the noise connection, when Tony was lying. Everything." Sam looked proud, and then his eyes darkened. "And you tore her down right in front of me, like Dad always did to us when we were growing up and we made a mistake. I hated having you watch that when it was me. Funny that you can't remember now how that felt when it was _you_." Sam shook his head and stood up. "Let's go."

"What about breakfast?" Dean returned. He was damn hungry.

Sam shrugged his shoulders. "Aren't you the one saying we have a little girl to save?" His eyes softened when they met Dean's. "I know you want to keep her safe, Dean," Sam said softly, and his little brother was talking about Charlie. Dean whipped his head, glared at Sam – but his little brother was a Winchester, and he didn't roll over and play dead like a normal person. "But you are fucked up, man," Sammy added.

Dean couldn't say anything to that. He just followed his little brother out the door after Sam paid for their coffee and told the waitress they were leaving. She looked at them like they were skipping out on their bill even though they hadn't eaten their breakfast, and Sam forked over more cash.

It really was better this way. Now that she was gone, he had some peace. Dean could breathe again.

Hands shoved in his pockets, Dean followed Sam out the door – staggering as the sunlight flashed against the back of his skull. Sam caught him as he stumbled, but there were no cool fingers brushing away his headache when Dean could focus his eyes.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Sam was beginning to think that Stephen Caldwell, the young pastor of St. Joseph's Church, was a candidate for sainthood. The Winchesters had spoken with five shop owners on Main Street and every single one of them was unanimous in their praise of the man. Sam didn't think that Eugenia Hawkins, the owner of _Peachin's General Store_, would tell them anything new but Dean was adamant that they weren't picking up Charlotte until after Mass – which, by Dean's reckoning, meant that they still had time to shakedown another store owner before heading to the Church.

Eugenia Hawkins – or, Ginny, as her nametag proudly displayed – was a gray-haired woman in her late sixties, with deep crinkles around her green eyes; Jess would have called them 'laugh lines' because Ginny Hawkins was always smiling. Even when Dean got dizzy and knocked over an entire display of Jelly Bellies, Ginny sat there and watched him while Dean started putting the bags back onto the rack with a broad smile on her good-natured face.

Dean was a mess. He had circles under his eyes – almost looked like he had been bruised underneath both of them – and he was pissy as hell. Sam couldn't tell if that was due to lack of sleep, or Dean being pissed at himself for how he treated Charlotte. Probably a combination of both, since Dean had been too stubborn to sleep – and Dean's eyes had the same look in them when Charlotte had turned her back on him and walked away.

For all that Dean tried to deny it, there was something about Charlotte Webb that had gotten under his older brother's skin – and now Dean was trying to cut her out like a cancer. And if there wasn't a little girl out there who was going to be eaten alive, Sam would have taken Dean out behind the general store and kicked his ass. He knew that Dean was going to hurt Charlotte, sooner or later.

_I'll let you in on a little secret, sweetheart. The last person we need help from on this gig is the brain trust who decided she could save the world with a book bag and a glowing sword._

Shemhezai had laughed the entire time, deep in Sam's belly. They were breaking each other with nothing but words, and it didn't have to do a thing.

But even after Dean had been a fucking asshole, Charlotte had given him her notes. Helping him just like she promised. Well, she had slammed her notes into Dean so hard Sam thought she'd actually knock him into the wall. Not that Dean hadn't deserved it.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

_There is no pain, you are receding –  
A distant ship's smoke on the horizon.  
You are only coming through in waves.  
Your lips move, but I can't hear what you're sayin'._

"Apart from messing with my candy display, what brings you boys here today," Ginny asked with a smile. Ginny Hawkins didn't look like your typical Pink Floyd fan, but she was humming the tune when she wasn't talking. Dean actually winced when he realized that the little CD player near the cash register had been playing _The Wall_ since they entered the store.

Sam looked at Dean, who was still putting the candy back onto the rack, and sighed. "My name's Simon and this is my colleague, Nick. We're reporters with the _Atlanta Journal-Constitution_, and we're here doing a special interest piece on Father Stephen Caldwell."

"Father Stephen's a nice boy," Ginny said, nodding. It _was_ the same story everyone was telling them.

"We're beginning to believe that, ma'am," Sam replied, returning the store owner's smile. "So he's been here a month or so?"

Ginny nodded. "Came here after Father O'Connor fell ill."

"Father O'Connor was the old pastor, wasn't he?" Dean's eyes widened, and he raised his head. None of the other store owners had mentioned the old pastor without a prompt, and clammed up when Sam asked questions_. Maybe she'll spill the beans to the handsome brother. _He could almost bring himself to grin at that. Almost.

"You boys sure have done your research if you know about the old pastor," Ginny replied. She knelt to pick up some of the candy, handing them to Dean as she talked. Her eyes looked at him knowingly, and Dean continued to put the candy in the rack. "Got sick a couple of months ago. Seemed like pneumonia or something at first. Poor man was always tired – falling asleep at the oddest times. Had pneumonia myself once and slept for almost two weeks, so I didn't think anything of it." The old woman sighed. "But then he started acting crazy, talking about the things that flew by his window at night. Said they stole his dreams and made him see things."

"Flying things?" his little brother asked.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Sam knew they were treading on delicate ground. The shopkeeper didn't seem like the type to get drunk and think she was staring at gargoyles.

"If you're from the paper, you know what those damn fool boys saw when they were drunk," the shop owner snapped. Ginny took a deep breath. "Sorry about that. Those boys are just an embarrassment to the town. If I could prove – " The storekeeper shook her head. "That has nothing to do with why you boys are here."

"We've talked to Tony," Dean said shortly.

Ginny nodded. "He's the worst of them. Always hurting his girlfriends, even in high school. Parents did nothing about it, either – brushed it off by saying 'boys will be boys' or something similarly asinine. People here just seem to look the other way most days." Her hair shifted as she snapped her head again, giving Sam a strange look. Dean looked faintly ill. "What kind of magic do you boys have? Here I am spilling all the secrets of the town," Ginny said. "You two must be real good reporters," the store owner added with another smile. "Always getting more than your story."

"Something like that," Dean drawled with a sudden smile. _So he brings on the charm now with an old woman?_

"Has Father Stephen started getting sick?" Sam asked – the look Dean gave him was sharp.

"He looks a little under the weather lately, but nothing serious." Ginny pursed her lips. "But he was talking about seeing those same crazy monsters outside his window." She looked around the store to see that they were still alone, and leaned forward. "Between you and me, I think he's been looking into the same problem that Father O'Connor did," the shopkeeper whispered.

"What kind of problem?" Dean asked. He looked annoyed. The bells in the Church's tower were ringing, which meant that it was time to pick up Charlotte.

Ginny snorted. "Not really sure, but he was a good man. A real good man. Stood up for people when no one else would. Tried to take care of us when we needed it." She knelt down and picked up some more of the candy packages from the floor, slipping them onto the rack while Dean just stared at her. "He was always fighting the good fight in his own way."

Sam pulled up his 'puppy dog face' and looked Ginny Hawkins right in the eye. "What do you think was happening?"

"Me?" Ginny's green eyes widened, and she lowered her voice again. "I think there's a storm coming." Her voice took on an almost sing-song tone, her eyes unfocused as she stared off into the space above Sam's shoulder. "And you boys are caught right in the middle of it." She smiled. "And that little redhead you've got traveling with you. The three of you don't figure this out, and you'll lose the girl. But you're close. Just need to trust in each other."

Sam felt a cold chill in his stomach. _What the fuck?_ Aaron had said there would be signs, that others were coming. But he didn't expect that a shopkeeper would turn into a prophet – Sam Winchester's very own Silent Bob. Shemhezai made a howling noise in his ribcage, impotent as it crashed against the bones of its cage. This was something they weren't supposed to know, but the good guys were fucked. Trust in each other? The only thing Sam trusted was that Dean would be a prick and Charlotte would leave – and Shemhezai would laugh every second while they tore each other apart some more with nothing but their sarcasm.

"Fuck," Dean whispered, his face white. He was shaking again, like something was trapped inside and trying to claw its way out. Sam could appreciate the feeling.

Ginny's head jerked forward, and suddenly she was smiling normally. She fidgeted with the notepad she had near the cash register. "Anything else you boys need? Some snacks for the road?" the shopkeeper asked. It was like nothing had ever happened. Dean looked as sick as Sam felt.

"No, thanks," Dean said, the skin around his eyes stretched as he turned to leave. He stumbled, and Sam reached out a hand to steady him. Aaron was right – they weren't ready, and what was coming would break them all.

That little girl was screwed.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Some people were walking down the steps of St. Joseph's as they made it to the front of the building. It was one of those old-fashioned churches – and that damn hick was right. The roofline was covered in gargoyles. That's why Dean hated old churches – you never knew what was a monster, and what was just supposed to be a decoration until you started whacking it with a baseball bat. Hell, not even then; who knew how many churches the Winchesters had defaced through the years?

Charlie wasn't in the crowd, but Sam pointed out a man who looked about Dean's age with a priest's collar; the man was shaking the hands of the people walking down the steps. Sam was craning his head to look past the crowd into the church, though – didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that Sammy was looking for Charlie, but Dean wasn't going to make it any easier for Sam by reminding him that she had a cell phone on her.

College Boy was slow, because he didn't even think about the phone. Sam looked at him, shrugged his shoulders, and walked up the steps past the priest – shooting the man a smile like nothing was wrong. Dean jammed his hands in his pockets again as he frowned and followed his little brother into the church. He couldn't keep his hands from shaking, or drown out the nausea that was roaring against his spine.

_Shouldn't have tried to eat some of that candy back in Peachin's._

Sam found Charlie kneeling in front of one of those statues near the back of the Church. She was lighting one of the candles at the base of the statue, and didn't even look up when she heard footsteps behind her; just folded her hands in front of her like she had the first night at Alfie's, when she was watching Sam face off against the succubitch. He remembered her face, how she shuddered in time with the light pouring out of Sam – and how Sam didn't hurt. _Probably taking in his pain with the crappiest Gift God could give anyone._ When Charlie started sniffling, Sam grabbed him by the arm and dragged him away.

"What the f – " Dean barely caught himself. _You're in a goddamn church!_ But Dean was louder than he intended, and Charlie's shoulders froze when she recognized his voice. Her hands moved like she was wiping her eyes. _Crap._ And then she stood up, gray eyes looking past him towards his little brother.

"See, Sam? Didn't lose my head," she said, and they grinned at each other. _The girl even quotes Queen._ Then Charlie's eyes flickered towards him. "I made an appointment for both of you with Father Stephen at 1:30." Charlie looked at her watch. "Which is in ten minutes," she added.

"What are you going to do?" Sam asked.

Charlie shrugged. "There's a novena at the same time."

Dean coughed. Charlie glared at him. "Or…" His voice trailed off. "You could come with us."

She rolled her eyes. "What could I possibly contribute to the discussion? I left my spare glowing sword back in Connecticut and we both know you think I'm an idiot." She snorted, arms folded in front of her chest. Charlie looked like she should have been wearing her old blue-striped pajamas. "Your hair grows inward, doesn't it? Because something is cutting off the oxygen to your brain," she said. "Maybe you've got so much hair gel slathered up there that it's started to leak through your hair follicles." _Bitch!_

"Charlotte…" Sam tried to interject, but her gray eyes bore into him. He held up both hands, and then shrugged. "Got it. None of my business." And the glance said it all – _You're on your own, dude_.

"Look – " Dean began before she cut him off.

"Let's go," Charlie muttered.

"Lead the way, Granny Girl," Dean replied. And it felt pretty good, watching her body recoil when he called her Granny Girl. Charlotte Webb _hated_ that nickname. Dean made a mental note to use it more often. He grinned at her, almost able to ignore the little voice in the back of his head that told him he should be apologizing to her.

She didn't even respond. Charlie turned to Sam and said, "Follow me."

She stormed past Dean, smelling like strawberries. Just like she had that morning. Dean closed his eyes, remembering how she laughed when Charlie called him a midget, and then heard Sam cough. The redhead was already out the back door and passing into the lobby. They sprinted to catch up to her as Charlie turned down a side hall, stopping in front of a plain office door. She limped along pretty fast for a girl with a broken leg – and that was when Dean realized Charlie wasn't walking with her crutches anymore, wasn't even carrying them. Sam had noticed, too, and just shrugged when Dean raised his eyes at him.

Charlie stepped out of the way so that Sam could knock, doing her best to look at the wall. A soft voice said, "Come in," and Sam swung the door open. The light inside spilled into the hallway, and Dean felt himself falling against the wall again – a little girl staring up at him with dark eyes, knives cutting into his muscles as it sliced flesh from his bones. Sam heard him falling, but he wasn't close enough to catch him, and Dean knew he was going to throw up because he wasn't moving fast enough to find her. But then Dean saw gray eyes watching him, out of the corner of his eye, and Charlie's hand was on his wrist.

Charlotte Webb was the stupidest smart girl Dean had ever met, holding onto him while she winced, gray eyes looking like the sky right before a storm while she helped keep him standing; his stomach almost felt normal. "Stop touching me," Dean snapped, ripping his wrist out of her hand. If Charlie made good on the promise of those tears suddenly standing in her eyes, Dean Winchester was going to lose it.

"Are you all right?" Stephen Caldwell asked. He was standing in the doorway next to Sam, a concerned expression on his face. Dean shrugged the affirmative – priests were supposed to care about these kinds of things.

"He's fine, Father," Charlie said, chin raised as she dared Dean to contradict her. He could see it in the way she held her shoulders. "These are my colleagues from the newspaper."

"Simon LeBon," Sam said, hand outstretched. The priest looked at Sammy like he was crazy. Sam gestured to Dean with his head. "And this is my partner, Nick Rhodes."

Stephen Caldwell laughed outright. "Do all reporters use the name of Duran Duran members for their bylines now?" His eyes were twinkling. Even Sam looked amused. _Fucking Duran Duran? I am kicking Sammy's ass six ways to Sunday!_ And Dean turned to Charlie, getting ready to make a smart-assed comment – about how the painted chick in that video on the boat was hot, but that the red-haired dude was wearing more makeup than she was – because she'd laugh at it. Except she wasn't even looking at him.

"We were supposed to be undercover," Sam said. He pulled out his own version of the priest's voice, calm and soothing as he followed Stephen Caldwell back into his office. "The locals think we're doing a special interest piece on the gargoyle sightings, but we're really here to talk to you about Father O'Connor." His little brother smiled. "We never expected anyone here to be a Duran Duran fan," he added.

The priest's eyes widened as he sat behind the desk. Charlie followed him into the room, sitting down next to Sam. Dean got to stand, leaning against the wall. He jammed his hands into his pockets, and glared at the back of Charlie's head while she pulled out her notepad. "Do you mind closing the door," Father Stephen asked. "I'd rather keep this conversation confidential. But if you _could_ help…" His eyes were worried.

"Sure." Dean kicked the door shut with his foot, still leaning against the wall.

"How much do you know about Father O'Connor?" the priest asked. He looked guarded, and Dean could see that small tendril reaching out from inside Charlie and brushing against the priest's chest. _Why the fuck does she always do that? _What happened if Stephen Caldwell had a secret that hurt her, too? She'd already been up close and mentally personal with some hick who hurt chicks while he screwed them – and that was _before_ breakfast. Dean grimaced.

"Not much. We know he was looking into something important, and then he started getting delusional." Sam frowned. "He was visited by the gargoyles for weeks, we were told."

"Father O'Connor is in the psychiatric ward of Madison County General," Stephen Caldwell said, and he looked like he was going to fall asleep in his chair. "The diagnosis is schizophrenia, and the prognosis isn't good. The doctors doubt he'll be able to return to his duties." He frowned, shaking his head. "Please forgive me, but Father O'Connor was a good man. This community lost more than just its pastor."

"What happened?" Sam asked.

"According to parishioners who spoke with Father O'Connor prior to his collapse, the gargoyles 'stole' his dreams. He stopped sleeping, and ended up in a walking nightmare." Father Stephen brushed the hair out of his eyes, letting out his breath with a sigh. "I didn't believe the latter to be true but…"

"You've been seeing the same monsters," Charlie said softly. She was looking right at the priest, and Dean could see a small pulse along the tendril that connected them. "And they're starting to steal your dreams, too," she added. Dean held his breath, waiting for the hammer to slam into her.

"I – " Stephen Caldwell gulped, his eyes staring right at Charlie. "You don't think I'm crazy."

"No," Sam answered, and the priest's eyes focused on his little brother's face. "We don't." His little brother leaned forward in his chair. "But we need to know what Father O'Connor was looking into when the visitations started."

"The same thing I was looking into when my visitations started," the priest replied. He leaned back into his chair. "Madison Pond Children's Home."

Dean started, body pulling up from the wall. "An orphanage?" he asked. Sam was looking at him with a strange expression on his face. Sounded like an orphanage.

Father Stephen nodded. "It's a county run facility, but you know how those things go. Too many kids. Not enough money. Father O'Connor visited the children's ward at County General every day. He met a little boy there named Kenny." His eyes darkened. "But you won't believe me when I tell you what that child saw."

"We might." Dean's voice was rough. _Death has fed here – the old tang of rust, bleached bones on the walls – and Death feeds here still. Salty and sweet against the wood, falling in small rivulets from her skin. _Charlie's eyes flickered towards him, her face _almost_ softening, but then she started staring at her notepad.

"Kenny claimed that there was a monster at the orphanage. A monster that ate the bad children." Stephen Caldwell shivered, and Charlie's shoulders twitched. _God, Charlie, how can I get you to stop doing this to yourself? _"The details were horrifying."

"Pretty common theme in a child abuse case," Sam said softly. "The monster that the kids can't protect against. So Father O'Connor tried to investigate the orphanage to see if he could root out the monster?"

The priest nodded. "The director, John Smiley, was relatively new – only in the position a couple of months. Father O'Connor tried to get permission to start a ministry inside, visiting with the kids. He managed three visits before Smiley shut him out." He swallowed. "But he had already seen enough to worry him, and he contacted one of his friends at Social Services. Annie did some digging for him, clearly under the desk."

"How bad is it?" Dean asked. He was vibrating inside – the little girl was there. He knew it. He could feel it. Charlie turned her head when he asked his question, staring at him. She looked away when their eyes met, a small grimace on her face.

"There's a higher illness rate there than any other orphanage in the state – and a disproportionate number of disturbed children." The priest rested his head on steepled fingers, eyes catching Dean's. "If you look at some of their case histories, Annie said it's a resting place for kids from the worst backgrounds. Abuse. Drug addicts for parents. There are kids there who _should_ be in a psychiatric ward, but because the county hospitals are all overflowing…"

"How hard did Father Patrick push?" Sam was tapping his knees with his hands. Fidgety. Looked like Sammy Boy wanted to start investigating the orphanage as much as his older brother did.

"As far as I know, Father O'Connor was getting ready to file a complaint through Annie with Social Services. There was enough evidence from Kenny alone to do something about the place. That account combined with his observations when he visited the orphanage was grounds for a formal inquiry." The priest sighed. "But then Father O'Connor started having nightmares, and you know the rest."

His little brother shifted in his chair, voice shifting into his 'compassionate' voice. "So you picked up where Father Patrick left off?" Sam asked.

The priest nodded. "I found some of Father O'Connor's journals when I replaced him. And I – " Father Stephen gulped. His eyes were fluttering now, and Dean was positive he'd be falling asleep in his chair soon. "I decided those children needed an advocate. Except John Smiley won't let me into the building – says the Church has no right in a public facility. He's worried that I'll be pushing religion onto the kids."

"What about Annie?" Charlie asked. Dean and Sam looked at each other, and Sam inclined his head with a knowing little smirk. _Yeah, I get that she's smart, little brother. _And if the gargoyles were sent after the social worker helping Father Patrick, all roads definitely led to the orphanage.

Stephen Caldwell turned white. "She's been in private care for the last three weeks." The priest swallowed. "Acute paranoia," he added.

"Private…" Dean's voice trailed off. _Acute paranoia? _ Mild paranoia was one of the side effects for sleep deprivation."Damn." Whatever was controlling the little flying bastards _had _gotten to the social worker. And now it was after Stephen Caldwell. Sam and Charlie were both already standing, and Dean felt sick again; because when they all got the same idea at the same time, it meant that it was probably the right idea. "How do we get to the orphanage from town?" Dean asked.

"Take the Madison Pond Road exit north of town off the main highway," Stephen Caldwell replied.

Charlie was handing her notepad full of notes to Sam. Dean coughed. "Thanks for your time, Father. You've been very helpful," Sam said absent-mindedly, eyes pulling from the notepad long enough to smile at the priest. Charlie shook the priest's hand, tendril disappearing behind her gossamer cocoon.

The priest pushed his hair out of his eyes again. "I don't know how much help I've been, but you're welcome."

"You've been a lot of help," Dean said, opening the door. Charlie hobbled past him without even looking, but Sam poked him in the ribs as he passed. _How the hell do I keep Charlie out of the way at an orphanage?_ Sam wouldn't let her go back to the motel after the whole 'we want to keep you safe' lecture. Dean sighed. _That was yesterday._

Charlie didn't stop moving until she was standing at the top of the steps outside of the church. She looked at Sam, glanced at Dean. "Those kids don't have a hope in hell, do they?" She was biting her thumbnail, staring at her shoe.

"Just us," Sam said, but he didn't look convinced. "They're _all_ screwed. I mean, they try to come forward with what's going on and no one helps them because the orphanage is an 'official' institution. The kids labeled as 'crazy' are supposed to be getting all the help they need there." His little brother whistled softly under his breath. "Not to mention the fact that anyone who tries to help ends up in a mental institution."

"If I were a predator looking for victims, it's a perfect setup," Dean said as Sam glanced at him. Even Charlie was watching him, nodding slowly. "And someone's going to a lot of effort to discredit anyone who gets close."

"It's our best shot," Sam said. "Dean's visions have been getting worse all day." Charlie stiffened at that, but said nothing. "This thing goes down tonight, whether we're ready or not," his little brother added, a pained expression crossing his face.

"I guess I get to help save more than a cow," Charlie said softly. She wobbled onto the first step, and then grabbed the railing. Both Winchesters stared at her back open-mouthed, and she turned to look at them. "I won't carry a weapon, but I can help with the kids if someone needs to get them out. And I can make sure _nothing_ notices me unless you need me."

Dean could only shake his head. _You're killing me, Charlie._ If she went on this thing, he wasn't going to keep an eye on her. Sam was his first priority, and then the little girl. And if he had some attention to spare in the fight, then _maybe_ he'd keep an eye on the redhead.

Sam coughed, moving to her side. "Um, Charlotte?" His voice was higher than Dean expected it would be for such a simple question. "Where are your crutches?"

"In the dumpster behind _Peachin's_," she said shortly.

"Why are your crutches in a dumpster?" his little brother asked.

"Because I broke them." Charlie's voice was short, and she used the rail to navigate quickly down the stairs. She was a lot faster than when she was using her crutches.

Sam's voice was concerned again, and he held her left elbow. "Did you fall down?"

"No. I was angry and the _wall_ reminded me of your brother." Charlie spotted the Impala and started heading towards it. She gave Sam a strange look. "Of course I fell down. What kind of idiot do you think I am? I'm Klutzy Girl, remember?"

"I don't think you're an idiot at all." Sam said lightly, but even he couldn't figure out a way to tell Charlotte Webb she wasn't clumsy and have a shot in hell of it being believable.

Charlie's voice was small in her throat again. "I'm sorry, Sam." She swallowed, hand on the back door of the Impala. "It's just that I want to…"

"Leave?" Dean supplied. It was his chance – maybe his only chance to keep her safe before whatever the hell went down at Madison Pond. Gray eyes glared at him. "You know you want to do it, Charlie." He pushed her brusquely aside and unlocked the back door for her. Charlie made a strange sound in her throat when he touched her, but said nothing as she slid inside. Didn't even try to settle behind him like she usually did; just reached out and closed the door.

"Dude!" Sam said. "We talked about this yesterday. Weren't you the one who wanted to keep her with us in case Alex Masters showed up – because the guy who gave her the 'what happens when you're alone in the room' speech sounded a lot like you when you're _not _being a prick!" Dean snorted. Charlotte Webb needed more protection from _Dean Winchester_ right now than that sword fighting blond asshole. "Or were you just being nice to get in her pants," his little brother added with a hiss. "Maybe you should go back to that approach, because at least I didn't want to kick your ass when you were flirting with her."

"Fuck you, Sammy!" Dean snapped. Charlie had heard the whole goddamn thing, sitting there with her cheeks turning bright red – Dean couldn't tell if she was embarrassed or freaking angry. He stalked over to his door, leaving Sam to do his Psychic Car Thief Boy maneuver. He looked back towards Charlie again while Sam frowned, opening his door. "You should just do it. Leave," Dean added. If she left, Dean wouldn't have to see that look in her eyes when he was falling down, or running through her head like a pack of wild dogs – ripping her apart every time she touched him. Glass on the inside.

"It's not that easy," Charlie returned, her voice soft. But she still wasn't looking at him.

Sam was smiling a little, like things were finally getting back to normal. There was no normal now. Dean Winchester was a fucking Warrior of God, and the girl sent to help him was having little pieces of herself cut off every time she tried – just like the little girl in his vision. "This whole thing is fucked," Dean muttered. "Broken all to hell."

Charlie took a deep breath, and she looked at him; Dean could see her eyes in the rear-view mirror. "My daddy used to say that things got broken so that we could fix them. Make them stronger than before. Maybe…" Her voice trailed off. _Un-fucking-believeable!_ She was trying to fix him. Again. The damn girl just didn't quit pushing.

"This the same daddy who told you to practice singing because one day you'll actually be good at it?" Dean shot back. _Fuck._ Her eyes shimmered, and he could see one tear trailing down her cheek. _I'm the world's biggest prick. _He took a deep breath. "No offense, sweetheart, but your daddy loved to fill your head with little lies," Dean added, his voice cracking a little.

"Dean…" Even Sam couldn't say anything more to _that_.

Charlie's hand was on the door handle, and she looked like she was going to run. One little push and he wouldn't hurt her anymore. Dean took a deep breath. "And look where those little lies got him, Charlie. Thrown up on a ceiling, watching you burn with him." Dean shot her a smirk, hoping that would at least get her out of the car. Charlie had his cell phone. She could still call Sam for help. And if she went back to the motel room, the gun was still in the drawer. Girl said she could use it. She'd be okay until they figured out what the hell was going on at the orphanage.

Charlie jerked forward and smacked him on the back of the head. Hard. Dean didn't even try to duck, because the part of him that knew he deserved it also knew exactly why he was saying it. Sam had a weird grin on his face, like he was trying to laugh and pushing it back inside. Charlie's voice was hard when she spoke, shaking in the back seat. "Just shut up and start driving this fucking piece of crap," she said. "The sooner we save that little girl, the sooner I won't have to look at your goddamn face anymore."

Dean couldn't say anything to that, just turned the key in the ignition. _Stubborn bitch!_ Creedence blasted out of the speakers, and Sam reached forward quickly to pop the tape. Lowered the volume. "Charlotte?" Sam's voice sounded strange. His little brother shook his head, and Dean would have sworn Sam's eyes were orange for a split second. _Fuck!_ Dean's stomach dropped, but when Sam blinked, he looked just like Sam. "You can't leave, Charlotte," his little brother said matter-of-factly. "We need you."

"The hell you do," she returned. "My expertise is in languages; any moron at a university can help you translate what you need to know. And fighting? I can't even drink orange juice without spilling it!" Dean laughed, and Sam smacked him in the arm. It wasn't a joke, but the only thing Dean could do was laugh or smash his hand into the steering wheel as hard as he could – and there was no way he was doing that in front of Emo Girl. She'd probably feel that, too.

"But what about your promise, Charlotte?" Sam's voice was soft. "What would your father think if you left?"

Dean held his breath. That was almost a lower blow than anything he had said. His little brother's eyes still looked normal, but his voice sounded strained. _Oh, goddamn, fuck. _That would just be the perfect topper to the afternoon, the thing inside of Sammy stopping by to say hello.

"My father wouldn't want me to become someone else's punching bag. Not after I finally got up the guts to leave." Charlie took a deep breath, leaned her head back against the seat, throat working silently as her eyes scrunched up. "And I promised to help Dean as long as he needed me, and I'm fresh out of book bags. I'll head out on the next bus to D.C. once we're done," Charlie added. "You boys will never have to listen to me sing anymore." And she laughed, a little bitter laugh that hurt more to hear than just about anything Charlie could say.

No one said anything after that. Sam kept looking between both of them, like he needed to do _something_ to fix all this but didn't have a fucking clue where to start. _The three of you don't figure this out, and you'll lose the girl. But you're close. Just need to trust in each other._ And when Dean looked at Charlie in the rear-view mirror, she was staring out the window – mouth moving to the song playing softly on the radio, turning inside of herself as she pulled her arms around her stomach. Of course Charlie knew the words to the goddamn song. Dean knew them, too.

_I can't explain – you would not understand. This is not how I am._

* * *

A/N:

St. Joseph, for those who are curious, is one of the patron saints of families. He is also one of the patron saints of pregnant women. This chapter originally had a scene where Sam comments on the fact that Charlie is praying to the patron saint of families, and she shoots back with a, "No, I'm praying to the patron saint of pregnant mothers," which – while funny – didn't fit with the rest of the tone of the chapter.

Obviously, every good fangirl has _Highlander_ on her resume. I even put in an homage to the soundtrack with the "Don't Lose Your Head" reference. Freddy Mercury would be proud.

Yes. I loved _Dogma_. I wish Jay and Silent Bob were my prophets, too.

As for Dean and Duran Duran… I'm guessing he's scored with a chick or two who liked the band, and the unedited version of "Girls on Film" would hold the boy's attention long enough for him to look past the fact that he was watching a _Duran Duran_ video.

Sam and Duran Duran? It just amused me to make him a fan. I'm _pretty _sure that isn't meant to be canon…

The science of sleep is something I really should have studied more in college, given my propensity for strange dreams and sleeping behaviors. However, I have read enough studies for sleep deprivation to note that it can cause what appears to be psychotic behavior after a long period of time – think of it like this: dreams are the brain's reset button. The Dream Eaters ("dreamling" is a nice term) don't just steal dreams. They steal the capacity _to_ dream over long-term exposure, hence Father O'Connor's inability to recover. He no longer has his internal reset button, so his brain doesn't get the necessary "downtime" that occurs during REM sleep.

My understanding of child protection laws is two decades out of date, but hopefully that knowledge served me in good stead.

The title of this chapter is a song by Pink Floyd. Yes, I knew you all knew that, but I felt compelled to state it anyway.

At this point, you definitely know the drill: Criticism is always welcome, and comments make my inner fangirl dizzy. (Well, dizzier. I am, by nature, very dizzy in my head.)


	11. Here Comes the Flood

This is set sometime after the end of Season 1. While it doesn't break canon to my knowledge, it is definitely AU. Outgunned and exhausted, the boys get ready to break Madison Pond Children's Home wide open and finish the job – but first they need to figure out what the hell they're actually fighting. That little girl is so screwed.

* * *

Disclaimer: The Winchester boys aren't mine. The Colt isn't mine. Wish the car was mine. But I can only blame myself for the Circle of Enoch.

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Charlotte Webb, OMC (John Smiley), OFC (Agnes Bennett), OFC (Joyce)

Rating: PG-13 ( Everyone swears. Adult themes regarding abuse. Steaming cups of angst. Mild gore. And whumpage.)

Summary: Careful what you wish for.

Feedback: Absolutely! Concrit is always welcome!

Miscellaneous: As always, this would not have been possible without the brilliance of JMM0001, who rightly pointed out the double meaning in "going commando" (and I wasn't ready to go there). Much thanks to wenchpixie, who not only squeed in all the right parts but helped me channel my Inner Dean – and she's got the Impala ready for my quick getaway. Both acted as my betas for this chapter, and will always get to choose the tunes when they're riding shotgun with me. The good parts are because of them. The bad parts are all me.

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**Chapter Ten: Here Comes the Flood**

The Winchesters survived by turning everything into a weapon.

It was John Winchester's first lesson – that anything could be used in self-defense. _Consider the broken chair, Sam._ Sam could name every component which demonstrated that a broken chair was not destined for the scrap heap. A sharp-edged piece was an excellent substitute for a stake. A blunt leg piece, on the other hand, was exceptionally useful as an improvisational mace.

If there was a goddamn dining room chair in the front seat of the Impala, Sam would be throwing it into the dashboard and clubbing some sense into his older brother's head.

Between dinner the night before and the meeting at _Betty's_, Dean had changed personalities faster than a schizophrenic. Sam was used to Dean's moods; they had both learned the art of dysfunction from John Winchester – and his older brother was an apt pupil. The only person who could slide into Grade A Winchester Asshole mode _faster_ than Dean was their father. It was bad enough when Dean did it with Sam; he was used to it. But Charlotte hadn't done anything to deserve it despite Dean's fucked-up attempt to protect her.

It started out innocently; it always did. Dean was genuinely concerned about her, how the Circle was probably looking for her as much as they were looking for Sam. They both knew Charlotte couldn't defend herself and Dean's argument was compelling. There was no way Charlotte Webb could take care of herself if the Circle showed up at the motel room. Hell, Sam could barely take on Alex Masters – and he'd been training with weapons since his father gave him that old plastic lightsaber when he was a kid. Charlotte needed their help as much as they needed hers. Unlike Dean, Sam never doubted that she was an innocent after that first night.

There was something about watching a girl call down the power of God to help your brother that clarified which side she was on, especially with a demon screaming inside him when the Ziv Zakai filled the room.

And she was good. Charlotte didn't want to be a Hunter – and, with those reflexes, that was probably good for everyone – but she was sharp; someone had taught her how to observe her surroundings and she knew how to read a person. No one could argue with her research skills. For all that she claimed otherwise, Charlotte was gutsy; Sam almost hugged her when he realized that Charlotte was handing them stolen Circle archives. Even Dad would be impressed by that.

But her teacher still hadn't made her hard enough to travel almost two weeks with the Winchesters. You needed a thick skin to deal with Dean for longer than a couple of days, and it wasn't lost on Sam that Charlotte had been sitting in the backseat of Dean's car almost as long as his older brother had been dating Cassie Robinson.

Dean's screwed-up sense of responsibility kicked in somewhere back in Missouri, on the day that Dean decided Charlotte needed her pajamas replaced. The look on Dean's face when he was trying to push the pajamas with the yellow ducks on the girl was the moment Sam realized Dean felt responsible for her; when some guy came barreling down an aisle towards her, Dean automatically put himself between them. It was inevitable. When Dean felt responsible for someone, he turned into an overprotective lunatic; Sam couldn't even count the number of after-school fights Dean started just because someone looked at his little brother funny.

And it got old.

Dean was Sam's protector; it was the first truth – that Dean carried Sam out of a burning house. In grade school, it was cool having Dean swoop onto the playground and start whumping the boys who teased Sam because he read too much or answered all the hard questions in class. But by the time Sam reached junior high, he'd been able to hold his own in sparring matches and didn't need his older brother to take care of bullies for him anymore. Dean still tried. Even tried to use the Older Brother Rule – _I'm right because I'm the oldest, Sammy_ – to keep Sam out of what Dean considered harm's way. Like an after-school fight was something Sam needed to worry about after years of hand-to-hand training.

It was even worse when Sam started hunting. Dean and their father had developed some weird Force-like rapport while Sam was studying in the library at school; neither of them gave Sam the opportunity to do the job without advice or criticism. Dean was always dogging his steps when not responding to looks or grunts from Dad; they didn't even speak in words half the time. And Dad never seemed to mind that Dean continued to treat Sam like he was in grade school, telling him what not to do on hunts. Sam expected that Dad would support Dean's delusions about being Sam's personal hero, like it was his job since Dean was four. The only thing worse than Dean getting pissy about a mistake was when Dad caught it – because Dean was downright nice after a conversation where Dad told you how disappointed he was in you.

Mistakes were never forgiven.

But Charlotte wasn't a Winchester, and didn't realize the second truth – that words were the most potent weapon of all. How many nights had Dean or Sam stood in front of their father, head hung in shame, as John Winchester quietly dissected every failure – from small mistakes to the faults that caused wounds – with a cold look in his eyes? Sam got it from both barrels, an urgent hiss in his father's voice that was echoed by the look on Dean's face whenever they hunted. And Winchesters could let loose with a clipped comment that knocked anyone to the floor; words were the weapons Winchesters used when the cost of fighting became too high, when lives were at stake – when you were worried as all hell but too much of a Winchester to admit it.

That didn't make it easier watching them tear each other apart. The looks were even worse than the words; when it was obvious Charlotte wasn't backing down, Dean slipped into the same cold anger Sam recognized as their father's secondary line of defense – glaring at her when he thought she wasn't looking. But Sam had to give her credit. Most people would have jumped out of the Impala once Dean sent one withering stare into the backseat, that angry glance into the rearview mirror. Charlotte sat there defiantly – chewing her thumbnail, but still in control – and returned the glare whenever Dean's head shifted to look at her.

But it wasn't getting them anywhere.

Sam sighed, eyes never leaving the trees on the side of the road. "Look – " he began.

"Don't." Dean's voice was barely a hiss. "You don't know what the hell is going on, little brother." He glanced once more at Charlotte, mouth a grim line on his face.

Sam rolled his eyes. _Here it comes again._ Dean was the oldest – which, in Dean's twisted mind, meant that his older brother was _always_ right. _Even when he's wrong._ Sam frowned. "None of us know what the hell is going on, Dean. We're going into this orphanage thing blind. We need a plan."

Dean snorted. "You came up with that all by yourself?"

"Maybe," Sam returned, turning to look at Charlotte dubiously. She was sitting hunched over, gray eyes so dark that Dean was lucky her gift was empathy the way that Charlotte was staring at the back of his head.

"I'll just drive the car." Dean shook his head. "You two smart kids figure out what the hell you want to do."

"And you'll do whatever the hell you want because you're always right?" Sam demanded. _Jesus, Dean._ Sam didn't think it was possible for his brother to be a bigger jerk than he usually was, but they had discovered new depths to Dean Winchester's ability to be an ass now that Charlotte was sitting in the back of the car.

"Something like that," his older brother said with a smirk. "The big plans are why we sent you to college."

"You didn't send me to college," Sam snapped. "That was all me." He shook his head. "Besides, the plan is simple. Charlotte and I will go talk to Smiley because there's no way in hell I'm leaving her alone with you. Just amuse yourself for awhile by picking lice out of your chest hair." Dean's eyes widened, and he looked like he thought Sam was crazy, but Charlotte actually snorted – followed by a soft little laugh that almost sounded normal.

"Your plan sucks, Sammy." Dean's knuckles were almost white on the steering wheel. "We should be scouting the grounds, seeing if we can figure out where the hell that thing is going to hurt the little girl."

"Sounds to me like that's a job for Ape Man," Sam returned.

"Why does _she_ have to go with you?" Dean's eyes flickered in the rearview mirror. "She'll only – "

"Get in the way?" Charlotte retorted. "That means a lot coming from the man whose crack investigative skills include screwing waitresses in alleys." Sam stifled a grin; Dean had earned that blow. _In spades. _"Besides, I need to be there for Sam," she added, her voice much softer. _What the hell?_

"Nothing even hap – " Dean shook his head and sighed. Looking at him from the side, Dean almost appeared resigned, like he was giving up on the round. "Whatever, Charlie."

"Focus on the _job_, Dean," the redhead returned. "You just passed the exit." Sam didn't even have to turn around to hear the gleeful smile in her voice.

Dean whipped the steering wheel around and the Impala swerved onto the other side of the highway. His older brother was muttering something under his breath. Sam shook his head. Dean _was_ getting sloppy. _So much for always being right because you're the oldest._

The road to the orphanage had trees on either side, meeting each other like an arch over the road – something right out of _The Lord of the Rings_. Whatever money the county gave Madison Pond – and Sam was guessing it wasn't much – didn't pay for the upkeep of the road. As the battered gate came into view, along with Sam's first glimpse of the ramshackle manor house inside, it was obvious nothing the county paid made it as far as the upkeep of the orphanage.

Dean whistled. It looked more like an abandoned hospital than an orphanage, and Sam felt a sharp twist in his stomach. _Come on Sam, that gun's filled with rock salt! It's not going to kill me. _

"It's a hell hole," Dean said as he pulled the car into the small parking lot.

Charlotte's voice was soft. "I can't believe they let children live here."

Dean nodded. "Makes living out of the Impala half the time seem downright palatial." He glanced back at Charlotte, and his expression was almost natural until their eyes met and Dean was suddenly frowning.

_Idiot._ The least Dean could do was apologize to her. Sam shook his head. "So do we want to go in as reporters?" He twisted in his seat to look at Charlotte. She nodded. "This is usually where Dean and I come up with aliases. We could use the ones we used in town, but I think we've worn out Duran Duran's welcome." That earned Sam Charlotte's shy smile.

"You know Charlie's out of here once we rescue the kid, right?" Dean asked.

"Maybe Charlotte and I are going to leave _you_ behind once we rescue the kid," Sam retorted. His older brother was the world's biggest prick. "Ever think about that?"

Dean's face turned white. "That'll be a long-lived partnership. You can scare the demons with your hair, and she'll get them to sit down for a nice girly chat." He whipped open the door. "Call me when you're done." Dean had one leg out of the car. "Fuck."

"Looking for this?" Charlotte asked, whipping Dean's cell phone at him. His older brother caught it before it smacked him in the face. Dean shoved it into his pocket and slunk out of the Impala, slamming the door behind him; he didn't even look back – disappearing into the trees. Charlotte leaned forward on the seat, her head on her arms. "I don't feel well," she said.

"Dean's an asshole." Sam placed a hand on her arm.

"I know that," she returned. "But this place…" Charlotte's voice trailed off as she raised her head. "Let's just get this over with, Sam."

"The sooner we're done, the sooner you can leave, right?" Sam didn't even wait for her answer. Charlotte unlocked the back door and stepped outside, flexing her hands before she shut the door. She looked as white around the eyes as Dean had when he left the Impala, locking the door and slamming it shut. _She's just as fucking stubborn as he is. _Sam sighed, joining her outside. "So, do you still want to be Charlotte Angell?"

"No." She shook her head vehemently. "How about Charlotte Cooke?"

Sam shrugged his shoulders. "Works for me. I'll be Sam Ables." Charlotte's shoulders recoiled when Sam gave the name – it was one of their more common aliases. "Do you want to work for the _Atlanta Journal-Constitution_?"

"I think we need to," Charlotte replied. "If the administrator does some checking, he'll think something's up if we use a different newspaper." Sam grinned; Charlotte Webb really was clever. She glanced once back towards the trees where Dean had disappeared, her face softening just a little with a sigh, before she turned towards the main doors of the orphanage.

They found a cobblestone walkway that lead to the steps. Charlotte frowned when she grabbed hold of the rickety railing, but pulled herself up quickly behind Sam. As they passed through the front doors, Sam noticed a group of kids playing to their right. At least, he thought they were playing. Some were sitting around a table, coloring listlessly. Others were sitting slack-jawed in front of a television playing an old Disney movie; sounded like _Alice in Wonderland_. They weren't acting like kids at all.

He nudged Charlotte on the arm. "Can you check it out?" When Sam got her attention, he pointed through the open double-doors into the playroom. Charlotte didn't even stop to ask what he meant, just looked past him into the room; her gray eyes widened for a moment, a look of concentration on her face, and then Charlotte stumbled, grabbing onto his arm. "Are you okay?" he asked. She looked sick to her stomach.

"No," Charlotte whispered. She tightened her grip on his arm, pulling him back towards her. Charlotte leaned forward and spoke softly in his ear. "This is bad, Sam. All of those children – something is connected to them." Charlotte swallowed. "It almost looks like…" Her eyes narrowed. "Like someone using an empathic gift, but I can only touch one person like that. Maybe two. There shouldn't be an empath out there that powerful without the Circle knowing about it."

"Can you tell what it's doing?" Sam swallowed. _I hate it when this crap happens to kids._ It never seemed fair. Winchesters knew the price children paid better than most, but it still hurt whenever it happened to someone else. Charlotte staggered again, her eyes unfocused as she shook her head. "What's wrong?" Sam asked.

"Just got a little dizzy," she returned. Charlotte raised an eyebrow, smiling a little as he steadied her by the arms. "Thanks." She shook her head sharply. "I don't know what it's doing. I can see the connections, and sometimes they pulse – like something is moving through it." She gulped for air, a quiet wheeze. "I've never seen anything like this before, Sam."

"So we go in keeping our eyes open," Sam returned. Charlotte looked exhausted. _She stayed up helping Dean last night._ He kept a hand on her elbow, and steered her towards the receptionist's desk.

The receptionist looked bored. She was chewing on her gum like it was the only thing keeping her awake – but, occasionally, she would look at her keyboard and peck something out slowly on it. Blue eyes looked up at both of them underneath her heavy make-up, and her blonde hair was so bleached that the air from a fan would break it if it hit her the right way. There was a nametag on her desk – an old metallic one that read 'Joyce.'

"Good afternoon," Sam said, hand outstretched to the receptionist. "My name is Sam Ables, and this is my colleague, Charlotte Cooke." The woman said nothing, just turned to glare at him with her watery blue eyes. "We'd like to speak with Mr. Smiley, if there's an opening in his schedule." Sam put his hand back down lamely at his side.

The woman snorted. "Do you have an appointment?"

"No," Charlotte replied, an ingratiating smile crossing her lips. Her head tilted – the same thing she had done earlier at breakfast before Dean started going ballistic. The receptionist stared at her, and then returned her smile; face creaking like it was something she didn't normally do. "But we're hoping that you can get us in to see him, Joyce."

"It's important," Sam added. "We're here from the _Atlanta Constitution-Journal_."

The receptionist's eyes widened. "I'll let him know that you're here." She gestured towards some musty-looking chairs sitting underneath old Disney prints. "You can wait in the reception area."

Sam followed Charlotte, who sat down in the nearest chair. She was staring at her feet – the floor had more scuff marks on the linoleum than she had on her remaining boot. The paint on the walls, a dingy blue, looked like it was just a breath away from peeling off the plaster. Dean was right – the place was a hell hole. _Goddamn Dean._ Sam sighed. "My brother's a prick."

"You're preaching to the choir, Sam."

He frowned. "You won't get Dean yet, Charlotte. I grew up with him and some days _I_ don't even get him." Her gray eyes settled on his face, and she looked completely defenseless; all the layers she had placed around herself when Dean was still with them were gone. "I think he's feels responsible for you, and the job got a lot harder when those flying things turned out to _not_ be gargoyles."

"I know that."

"You never grew up Winchester, so you don't have the benefit of seeing Dean in all his glory," Sam continued. Both of their voices were low, and occasionally Charlotte would glance at the receptionist; Joyce was furtively whispering into the mouthpiece of her headset, her blue eyes blinking furiously. "He never questions our Dad. Did you know that? Dad would ream him for hours if he made a mistake, but even Dean didn't know how many secrets Dad was keeping from us. I _know_ Dad knew about the whole Beata thing; Dean thinks I'm the bad son because I question Dad's motives. Dean thinks I've forgotten why we do the job." _If it weren't for pictures I wouldn't even know what mom looks like. _

Charlotte didn't say anything, just looked at him with gray eyes that seemed to sink inside of him, like someone was really listening to him for the first time in his life Sam swallowed. "Dean was four when our mom died but Jess died last year. I found her, Charlotte. I saw her die. I've _lived_ the reason why we're fighting." He shook his head. "And he always pulls this whole 'I carried you out of a burning building' routine as a way to keep me in line. He didn't do squat. Dad handed me to him and told him to run. That's not rescuing me. That's just following orders." _Like a good little soldier._

"Your brother would die for you." Charlotte said it matter-of-factly, voice soft all the same. "Are you alright, Sam?"

"How the hell can you defend him after what he said to you about your dad?" Sam demanded. He knew he shouldn't be staring at her open-mouthed, that it would call Joyce's attention to them in a way they did not need, and he consciously worked to lower his voice. "And I'm fine!" he snapped. "Just figuring out a few things."

"I know what he said, but that still doesn't change the fact that he'd die for you." There was sadness in her voice that Sam did not expect. "And you need someone who will, Sam."

"I don't think you should leave after we save the girl." Sam lowered his eyes. "Well, I don't think you should leave _me_. We would do just fine on our own." When he said it, Sam knew he was seeing clearly for the first time. Dean's mood swings didn't help the job. Dean hadn't kept the demon from rumbling in Sam's belly. It slithered inside, some dark greasy thing against his hip bones. "You're the one teaching me what I need to know to Awaken. Dean can't help with that."

"No, but he can help keep you alive!" Charlotte's brow furrowed, and she looked like she had swallowed something nasty. "You're not ready for what's coming, Sam. I know you _feel_ special. You're the Chosen one in two prophecies, the key to the success of _both_ sides." She frowned, looking down at her shoes. "But until you Awaken, you're just a boy getting visions you don't understand with a monster inside that you can't control," Charlotte added. "At least I'm trained to use my gift."

"I'm keeping it together," Sam retorted. "And _you're_ training me."

"I'm not a teacher." Charlotte's entire body stiffened. "Sam, you can barely meditate properly. You're keeping it together because you've got help. And Dean loves you."

"In a dysfunctional Winchester way," he returned. His shoulders slumped. Who the hell was she anyway? Sam grimaced – a shooting itch flickered across his back, and he shifted against the top edge of the chair to try and scratch it. Charlotte was looking away from him, her cheeks flushed. "Can you give me a hand?" Sam asked, voice so hard that Charlotte shivered in her chair. "I need you to scratch my back," he added when Charlotte focused on him.

He turned his back to her. Charlotte's hand brushed against his back, lightly touching him. Sam heard her take a breath, and then felt the pressure of her nails against his back as she leaned into it. She managed to find the exact spot without prompting. When footsteps came towards them from down the hall, Charlotte pulled her hand away.

"Where are they?" The man's voice was terse. Sam turned towards the voice. An older man – somewhere between late thirties and early forties – walked towards them briskly, dressed in a nicer suit than Sam would have expected. The man was frowning as Sam and Charlotte stood up to great him. "Isn't it proper procedure for reporters to make appointments instead of barging in on people unannounced during their work day?"

Charlotte and Sam exchanged glances. "It is," Sam said, pulling out his best smile, "But we felt that it we needed to speak with you immediately to get your side of the story, Mr. Smiley."

"You know why we are here," Charlotte said. "The children are important to us." Even Sam was startled by the sincerity in her voice.

John Smiley's eyes widened, and his shoulders slumped. "Fair enough. Why don't you both follow me to my office?" He turned on his heel, and Sam smiled at Charlotte – one eyebrow raised. He was betting she'd get the question. Charlotte frowned, and shook her head. _So he's not the one connected to the children. _Sam shrugged at her and followed John Smiley down the hall.

The man said nothing until they were sitting across from him at his desk and the door to his office was closed. John Smiley's office was immaculate – except for his desk; it was covered with a stack of file folders. He rubbed one eye with his hand, and sighed deeply. "Thank you for speaking with us," Sam said when the administrator looked him full in the eyes. The man's green eyes were bloodshot. "I'm Sam. Sam Ables." Sam gestured towards Charlotte. "And this is my colleague, Charlotte Cooke."

"I know what you're here to talk about," the administrator said. He patted the file folders on his desk. "Is this on the record?"

Sam shook his had. "That's your call."

"Off the record, then." John Smiley frowned. He waited until Charlotte set her pencil down on her notepad before continuing. "Look, I understand both of you think you're doing your job but these kids…" The administrator lowered his eyes, staring at the files on his desk. "About nine kids came forward in the initial complaint, and the only connection I've seen between them is that priest." He sighed. "He spoke with all of them as part of his 'investigation' but I believed the priest was covering his tracks. He went crazy, you know; even tried to kill himself. That was proof enough of his guilt for me."

Charlotte didn't even flinch, but Sam felt his body jolt. "You're talking about Father Patrick O'Connor, aren't you?" he asked.

The administrator nodded. "Half of the stories he 'identified' in speaking with the children occurred weeks before I was assigned here. But – " John Smiley swallowed.

"You thought it was his fault." Sam stated it matter-of-factly. "That's why you wanted to keep Father Caldwell outside of the orphanage."

"The Church likes to clean up its own mistakes, and with all the press these days regarding molestation cases, I believed Father Caldwell was brought in to keep the authorities out of the picture." John shrugged his shoulders, and he looked so weary that Sam knew the man was innocent. Charlotte was frowning, a pensive expression on her face. "But I stopped knowing what to think when the social worker was hospitalized. And this morning? A little girl went straight to Dr. Howell this morning about nightmares she's been having," the administrator added with a sigh.

"Nightmares?" Sam asked.

Charlotte's eyes widened. "A little girl?"

"She came to the orphanage a week ago, transferred here from Atlanta." John Smiley's eyes were resolute. "Horrible background. Her mother was a crack addict who died when a trick turned bad. Ellie ended up in the foster care system, but she was sent here when her last foster family complained about her having nightmares." He shook his head. "The monster she described is the same as the one outlined in Father O'Connor's complaint. How is that even possible if they never met? I checked her files."

Sam didn't even know how to answer the question, but it deserved one – the administrator was desperate. He looked at Charlotte, hoping she would think of something, and saw her eyes unfocus. She was staring at a point above his shoulder. _Oh, shit. Not again._ But Charlotte didn't begin speaking in a sing-song voice, talking about the storm that was coming. The redhead keeled over in her chair, her head smacking sharply into the desk. _Just like Dean did back at the store._

Shemhezai was exultant, chortling its litany of Ascension, deep within Sam's chest. Sam Winchester had never felt so hollow inside as he did watching Charlotte's red hair pool around her – listening to the demon in his belly singing softly in its delight.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Charlotte was on a hospital bed. She didn't even have to look. The hard mattress. The cold roughness of sheets against her arms, the lumps in the pillow. Her head hurt like hell, and there was a horrible itch on her left thigh. She scratched it fiercely before opening one eye weakly; the light from the overhead fixture bore its way into her head. She covered her eyes with one hand and rolled onto her side, curling up into a fetal position. Her chest muscles ached, and the movement kicked in nausea that was thunder against her spine.

She forced herself to open her eyes, grit her teeth. It hurt. Her goddamn thigh was burning. _Focus._ Pain could be channeled – lessons learned from years of feeling her own pain, from years of having other people's pain shoot randomly through her head. Charlotte took a breath. It was still there, the insistent pressure, but it no longer cracked.

Charlotte couldn't see Sam, but he was standing nearby – a thin layer of stubbornness barely containing the rage threatening to unleash itself every time Sam Winchester got cocky. He wasn't ready. He was nowhere close to being ready, but like a goddamn Winchester, Sam believed he was invincible.

Just like a goddamn Winchester, Sam believed he didn't need anybody's help. That he knew what he was doing, and what he was doing was the right thing – even when he was so close to breaking and losing it all.

Just like Dean.

_How the hell can you defend him after what he said to you about your dad?_

Dean Winchester was a walking wound, bludgeoning her with words – overwhelming her with guilt and a self-hatred even larger than her own. Wrapped up in a sly little grin and dancing eyes that had tears standing in them, when you looked hard enough.

And Dean was beginning to _feel_.

Charlotte remembered Dean trembling when she sat next to him at the booth at _Betty's_. Dean actually jumped when she got the first flash from Tony, how the man was going to hurt her. She hadn't even had a chance to teach him anything, how to protect himself. The man she was Called for, and Charlotte had left him dangling like an unprotected flag in the wind; ripped to shreds by an awakening gift, so many emotions bombarding him as he spiraled into himself. And the secret.

A secret she tried to deny. Charlotte was too goddamn scared to tell Dean Winchester the truth – that she had never known of an empath who could see another person's feelings, like she had the night the succubus ripped open a conduit that forced Charlotte to see Dean's emotions as clearly as she felt them deep inside. Angry words covering good intentions. A twin-bladed knife – if she could feel him, then he could feel her. A knife that cut both ways. And as much as his words pushed her away, Dean's feelings told her something else.

She wasn't strong enough to heed the Call in spite of what he _felt_. Dean Winchester's words hurt; and Charlotte Webb was the scarred little girl who spent an entire lifetime being marked by sharp-tongued truths spoken by people who used words as scorn – to show how little she had become.

Charlotte winced, managing to sit up when she heard footsteps enter the room. She opened her eyes, focusing on the heavy-set feet in comfortable walking shoes approaching her, as a voice clucked, "Poor dearie. Are you feeling better now?" So much power, so much revelation in pain. Every shield slammed up at the sound of that voice, invisible to even one who was trained.

It was instinct.

Fighting the urge to tremble, Charlotte brought her eyes up the woman's body, saw the kindly-looking face of an old woman. A woman dressed in a nurse's uniform. A woman with a swirling mass of pulsing tendrils sitting right where her heart should be. Sam's eyes above the nurse's left shoulder, face full of concern.

_A feast of hearts. _It was the woman's voice, the one in her head. _The hearts devoured._

She stumbled off the bed, falling to her knees – but Charlotte had already started vomiting before her hands hit the floor.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Dean kept to the trees, skirting the edge of the actual grounds. Like the main building and the small gardening shed he had seen on the outskirts of what was supposed to be a playground, the yard showed no sign of real care. The grass was overgrown. There might have been a garden once but all Dean saw as he passed were overgrown rose bushes. Everywhere he looked, it was deserted; even the battered swing set on the playground was deserted – not one little girl swinging, not one little boy sliding into the sand.

_Where are the kids?_

The walls circling the grounds were crumbling due to lack of upkeep – Dean had found a space large enough for a person to bypass the security cameras at the front gate. _So much for keeping the kids safe._ Whatever was hurting the kids might not even _be_ at the orphanage; it could be sneaking inside the same way Dean planned to sneak back onto the grounds with Sam when it got dark – _after_ they dropped Charlie off at the motel.

Women complicated the hell out of the job.

The moment he woke up in Wisconsin, Dean should have pulled on his clothes and found the nearest bar – because then he could have screwed that night in the back of the Impala out of his system. The succubitch was almost two weeks dead, and Dean could still smell strawberries whenever he was near Charlie. It was too late.

And it didn't help that he could still feel Charlie's fingers brushing the scar on his hand, the way her eyes softened when she realized that other people had scars – or the way she shuddered when that asshole wanted to hurt her. And it was screwed no matter how he looked at it. The girl was clumsy as all get-out and she talked too much – but when Charlotte Webb smiled, Dean Winchester forgot that she couldn't sing worth a damn; that little off-key warble of hers had more hope in it than the Winchesters had known in a long time, like Charlie knew the darkness didn't stand a chance.

_Fuck._

Charlie wasn't anyone's one night stand. Not even his. A girl like Charlie deserved someone who would stay with her and put her first above everything else, someone who would hold her when her gray eyes filled with so much pain she would burst. It's not like Dean could talk to her anyway; the goddamn woman took everything he said – even when he was being nice – and scrambled it up until it meant something else. And Charlie was leaving as soon as the gig was done. So _nothing_ changed.

Dean was always the one left behind.

When Sam came back, Dean knew Sam would leave him again. Just like Dad. They always left – Sam to Stanford, Dad to wherever the hell he went last year. Just like Mom, except she left with a scream that still echoed deep inside. So Dean pushed when he needed to push. _It's the middle of the night! Hey, I'm taking off. I will leave your ass, you hear me?_ He and Sam would never be the way they were before because Dean always fucking broke things – broke them all to hell.

He stumbled out of a stand of trees, spying a cleft in the small hill behind the orphanage. There was a trail leading to the cleft – scuffed with footsteps – and it had been used recently. The trail led back to the ramshackle main building. Dean knelt by the side of the trail. _Adult-sized._ Whatever made them had been carrying something – Dean could tell that by the way the foot pressed into the earth, the splay of it towards the ball of the foot.

Dean pulled out the penlight he kept in his jacket, wishing he had thought about the possibility of caves – and the need for a bigger flashlight. He stepped lightly onto the trail, hoping whatever was using the caves wouldn't recognize an additional footprint on the path, and entered the fissure. It smelled dank, and he heard the drip of water in the distance. Air was moving from somewhere, the same rotting stench he remembered from his vision.

His stomach clenched, muscles contracting involuntarily at the memory. She was so tiny, the girl in his vision. Dean shook his head, scratching absent-mindedly at his chest; it itched – a burning itch that got worse the more he scratched it. Dean gritted his teeth, ignoring the pain as the stench grew stronger. He slid down an incline, coming to a short drop which he easily managed with a short jump. _No way Charlie's coming down here. _

Dean used the right-hand rule – following the right side of the passage – and found a large cavern, scattered with bones; on the floor in piles, even in natural niches on the walls. It smelled like animals and something else, but looked nothing like the room from his vision. But the smell was the same, the stench in the air that marked Death as a thing come for children. He swallowed. Across the room, a stone table – nothing more than a hollowed out rock with candles on it.

It could only be an altar.

_It ends here tonight._ It was a man's voice, with some kind of hillbilly accent. A man's voice in his head. Dean started to shake. _One chance, Dean. Not much time, now. You need to be ready. _Stark terror filled him, a burning in his chest. _Can't sleep, but you need food in your belly. _Sammy's body, crumpled in front of the white altar. A stone altar. _To ground yourself, Dean._ His father's face with yellow eyes, blood pouring from Dean's chest as the demon taunted him deep inside. _Your family needs you. _And the blood was never going to stop.

_You know, you fight and you fight for this family, but the truth is….they don't need you. Not like you need them. Sam—he's clearly John's favorite. Even when they fight. It's more concern than he's ever shown you._

A scream in his head. Dean dropped to his knees, scuttling towards the side of the cavern. A maelstrom slammed into his spine, and then he was throwing up.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Charlotte was lying down in the backseat of the Impala. Sam guessed that would piss off Dean, having the redhead in his precious car without Dean even being there, but his older brother hadn't seen the look in her eyes. Charlotte was going to run if Sam hadn't gotten her out of the orphanage. So he unlocked the door, made Charlotte get in the backseat, and called his brother. Dean had sounded disoriented, but told Sam he'd meet them by the car.

Dean ended the conversation with a curt, "Stay right there."

Sam snorted. Where the hell was he supposed to go with Charlotte dry heaving in the backseat and Dean tracking who knew what in the middle of the woods? They were sitting in a parking lot, in broad daylight, with a trunk full of weapons and Dean was going all psycho about Sam staying near the car. _Doofus._

Sam was still shaking his head when Dean emerged from the tree line, one quick glance to see if anyone was nearby before he started walking towards the car. Dean looked just as sick around the eyes as Charlotte had when she saw Agnes Bennett for the first time. The nurse had done her best to give Charlotte water and calm her down before Sam took her out of the infirmary, but Charlotte was adamant that she just needed some air. Didn't even tell Sam what made her so anxious.

Dean didn't say anything, just grunted and slid into the front seat – half-twisting as his hazel eyes took in Charlotte leaning against the window behind him. The look she flashed him shut Dean's mouth before he got out a word. "Smiley's clean," Sam said, shutting his door.

"You figured that out in one conversation?" Dean snorted.

Sam nodded. "I'm not an idiot, Dean. We have the same goddamn father. He taught me how to read people the same as he taught you." He glanced back at Charlotte. "Besides, I had an ace in the hole."

"Couldn't resist using your Gift?" Dean asked. "That why you look like you're getting ready to puke?" He leaned forward, a nasty grin on his face. "You throw up back there, Charlie, and I'll kick you out on your ass."

"Don't you think we should be leaving?" Charlotte asked suddenly, rolling her eyes. "People might get suspicious if we sit here having a chat in the parking lot."

Dean sighed. "We do need to eat." He shook his head, and started driving. "But Sam and I are coming back after we drop you off at the motel. This thing's going down tonight."

"You drop me off and I'll come back in a cab," Charlotte retorted.

"Don't argue with me, Charlie."

"Then stop being a _dick_, Dean." She snorted.

Sam's eyes widened. Charlotte Webb, the girl so polite she used the term 'freshen up' to excuse herself from the table before going to the rest room, had just called his older brother a dick. He would have laughed out loud if Dean didn't look like he was getting ready to hit the steering wheel. "Dude, calm down. She'll be okay," Sam said, but he didn't believe it, either. _She threw up when she saw a nurse._

"You need all the help you can get," Charlotte added. "I think you're dealing with the _Cordi Peredo_."

Sam frowned. "I devour hearts?" _What the hell?_

"It's a literal translation for a demon that sustains itself using people's emotions. In Latin, cor refers to the seat of one's emotions – the 'heart' of a person." Her voice was soft. "And it's strong – strong enough to feed on multiple victims at once, and clever enough to use that energy to connect to more victims." Charlotte lowered her head. "All those kids, connected to its 'heart.' Feeding it." She swallowed. "All connected to the nurse," she added.

"The nurse?" Sam yelped. He hadn't seen that one coming. "Why the nurse?"

"I saw the tendrils in her chest. The moment I heard her voice, all I wanted to do was hide from it – so it couldn't see me. Dean and I are a smorgasbord compared to those kids."

"Which is another reason why you need to stay at the motel," Dean hissed. "At least I can defend myself."

"From a demon that eats emotions? You're not even trained!" Charlotte's arms were back around her stomach. "What little I touched of its mind before I raised my shields made me throw up, Dean." And her voice was rough, like she was having a problem actually admitting that to him. "You can hunt, but you sure as hell can't do jack as an empath," she snapped.

Sam saw Dean's mouth twist, and something flashed in his brother's eyes as his head jerked. _Oh, fuck._ Dean was going to let loose with both barrels on her. "I threw up, too," his older brother said softly, eyes looking at her in the rear view mirror.

Charlotte looked like she had the night before, when she was sitting next to Dean on the bed and he was talking about the little girl. One hand inched forward, and Sam was sure that if she just followed through and touched Dean's shoulder, things might turn normal. But she shook her head angrily, pulled her hand back with a sharp frown.

Dean's shoulders slumped. "I got lucky, too."

"What did you find?" Sam asked.

"Back entrance. Stupid bastards don't even keep the walls maintained, so any jackass can sneak onto the grounds." Dean grimaced, tapping the steering wheel lightly with this thumbs. "And a cave that smelled like the room in my vision. Only…" His voice trailed off. "It didn't look like my vision."

"Some visions are allegorical," Charlotte said softly.

Dean snorted. "Makes them good for a fucking clue." He didn't wait for Charlotte's retort. She sat back down against the window, air deflating from her lungs. "But I found an altar, and it had been used for something," he added.

"What?" Sam felt his stomach drop. "Calling Dreamlings?"

"Not sure," Dean replied, shrugging his shoulders. "But if you ate emotions, and you could tap into the Dreamlings, seems to me like a good way to get a fix." Charlotte made a noise in her throat, and she had a look on her face like the thought should have occurred to her earlier; the whole 'I'm Circle-trained' routine was almost as old as Dean being an over-protective jerk. "What?" Dean asked with another cocky grin. "You upset you're not the only one in the car with a working brain, Charlie?"

"Dean…" Sam was going to say more, but his eyes unfocused – he pitched forward, bracing himself with his hands on the dashboard.

"Sammy?" Dean's voice was anxious. "You okay, little brother?"

"Back off, Dean. I just got a little dizzy," Sam snapped, bringing himself back up into a sitting position. "I'm hungry."

"Well screw me for caring about my little brother, Sam," Dean replied. _Great._ Dean had hunched his shoulders, staring right at the road with eyes that shone. Charlotte sat up like she was going to say something, and then thought better of it. "What we all need is a good night's sleep, but food will have to do," Dean added. He gestured with his head towards a restaurant on the outskirts of Madison. It looked like every chain restaurant the Winchesters had eaten at across the country, and Sam knew it was full of kitschy pictures on the walls and was staffed with waiters who wore 'flash' on their suspenders – without even opening the door.

"I hope they have soup," Charlotte said softly as Dean pulled into the parking lot. "And some crackers," she added. The redhead was just as white as she had been in the infirmary.

"If you're going in, you need to eat more than soup and crackers," Dean retorted, driving the Impala into a parking space.

"Whatever," she muttered, unlocking her door the moment Dean stopped the car. Charlotte walked ahead of them, wrapping her sweater around her, without waiting for either of them to catch up with her.

The moment she was in the door, Dean exhaled. "I suck," he said softly, and quickened his step towards the front door of the place. Sam agreed, but chose not to say anything – just followed his brother. Dean jammed his hands in his pockets as he walked, head staring at his feet.

Charlotte was talking to the hostess. "Five minutes," the perky blonde said with a smile. Sam was right. The waiters wore buttons on their suspenders. Charlotte smiled and sat down on the nearby bench.

Sam sat down next to her as she stretched out her legs. She was humming along with the song being played over the speakers. Dean grunted, and grinned at Sam – his older brother's way of saying 'Muzak sucks' without words. "The actors gone, there's only you and me, and if we break before the dawn, they'll use up what we used to be," Charlotte said softly. Sam looked at her. She smiled, a little sadly. "Peter Gabriel," she said.

Dean opened his mouth to say something, but the hostess came up to them with three menus in her hand. "Hey there, sweetheart," Dean said as she came into earshot. "Those for us?" The hostess giggled as Dean's grin widened, and Sam was sure his older brother was going to start flirting with her – except Dean tried to offer his hand to Charlotte, who waved it off and pushed herself up off the bench.

They didn't say anything while they followed the hostess, but Sam saw Charlotte and Dean glancing at each other – and Dean automatically sat down next to her in the booth once they were seated. Dean actually smiled when Charlotte ordered a soup and sandwich combo plate, but they still weren't talking to each other. Not that Charlotte was any better – just as stubborn as goddamn Dean.

Sitting there in silence while they waited for their food was one long ache. Sam was glad he wasn't an empath because there was no way in hell he wanted to know what either of them were feeling. Sam tried to start a conversation three times – the only answer he received was a curt response – but when the waitress finally brought their food, Sam had to ask the question that had been nagging him since they left the orphanage.

"Why the hell did we leave, Dean?" Sam's stomach growled, belying the question, but he continued. Dean's plans were always half-assed. "We should be getting set up back near that place you found to sneak in."

"We haven't eaten anything all day, Sam. We need the food for energy." Dean swallowed, pushing a mouthful of meatloaf across his plate with his fork. "To ground ourselves," he added. Charlotte started.

"What do you know about grounding yourself, Dean?" Sam asked with a snort.

"Got a little vision," Dean returned, his face turning red. "A man told me we needed to ground ourselves."

"That's just great, Dean. We're eating dinner because you're hearing fucking voices in your head." Sam took another bite of his hamburger. Dean was an idiot. But that didn't stop Sam from shivering when Shemhezai chuckled, another slither deep within his chest.

Charlotte covered her mouth with her hand, exhaling past her fingers. "That's exactly what I was talking about earlier, Sam. Food is one of the fastest ways to ground yourself. You don't know as much about this as you think you do."

"Watch it, Charlie." Dean's voice was hard. "That's my little brother you're reprimanding." He snorted. "Sam's been through more crap in a month than you've lived in your entire life."

"So what's your point, Dean?" Charlotte demanded, nostrils flaring.

"My point is that Sam's experienced, sweetheart. And you're not."

"Only in Winchester," Charlotte retorted. "Sam might be able to _fire_ a gun but he's barely keeping Shemhezai under control. What happens when that thing rips out of your brother in the middle of a fight?"

"That _won't_ happen." Dean's jaw clenched. "I'll be there to help him."

"Like you were there to help me keep Jess from getting killed?" Sam returned. He rolled his eyes. "Hell, where were you the night _I_ killed the succubus?"

"What is your fucking problem, Sammy?" Dean jerked his thumb towards Charlotte. "I was rescuing the goddamn girl like you told me to. Remember?"

"That had nothing to do with me." Sam leaned forward, arms folded in front of him. "You helped Charlotte because that's your MO. How many times have you said it, Dean? Girls get horny when you rescue them. You wanted to fuck her in the back of your car, just like every other goddamn chick you pick up." Sam grinned. "And just like every other goddamn chick, you want to drop her faster than a hot potato now because you've already screwed her."

The color drained from Dean's face. "Shut the fuck up, Sammy." Dean glanced over at Charlotte; she barely managed to swallow her spoonful of soup before the spoon fell from her hand. "Before I…" His older brother's voice trailed off, and Dean clenched his hands into fists.

"Before you what? Threaten to take me outside and kick my ass for me." Sam sipped his tea, staring Dean right in the eyes. When his older brother looked away, Sam added, "I'm all grown up, Dean. You can't push me around anymore." He felt the strength filling him, the cry from deep within him as it welled forth to confront Dean without making apologies. A strength so pure that Sam was able to ignore the part of him that wondered what in the hell he was saying to Dean.

Dean suddenly whipped his head towards Charlotte. "What game are you playing, Charlie? What the fuck are you doing to my little brother?"

"Nothing," she returned. "Being a cocky bastard is a Winchester trait." Charlotte's gray eyes narrowed. "And that's why he's so dangerous. Shemhezai can use that."

"I wish Sam had never shoved you into the back of my car," Dean whispered, fingers clutching his scalp. "This is your fault, Charlie." His voice cracked. "Before you, we were fine. Didn't hurt."

"Didn't _feel_," Charlotte snapped. "And your brother was going to Awaken with or without me, Dean Winchester. At least I was there to help." She sat back in the booth. "But what the hell do I know? I'm just the girl you wanted to fuck in the back of your crap car."

"And we were never fine," Sam added. "Winchesters are broken, Dean." How many nights had he and Dean sat there, listening to Dad's lectures? Sam never cried past the age of six when his father was around. Hell, Dean never cried. Period. Clarity, when it hit, was like a baseball bat to the back of his skull – but it brought with it a certain remnant of peace. "You know what?" Two sets of eyes looked at him, and he smiled. "I don't need either of you."

"What?" Charlotte and Dean said it in unison, as though they had planned it.

"I don't need some fucked up Emo Girl telling me to control my emotions when she can _barely_ control her own," Sam said. The truth brought calm. The truth brought lucidity. "And I _never_ needed a brother like you, Dean."

Charlotte's head snapped back as though she'd been slapped. "So what are you saying, Sammy?" Dean asked, his voice sounding like a little boy's.

"This is our last job, Dean. We save the girl, and then we're going our separate ways." Sam took a deep breath, exhaled.

"All three of us," Charlotte added, glaring at her bowl of soup. "You can _try_ and save the world by yourself, Sam Winchester."

"While you hide underneath a rock?" Dean snapped.

"Hey, your brother's the boss. He _knows _what he's doing." Charlotte shrugged her shoulders. "Besides, you've already fucked me. Why the hell would you want me around? I'm in the _way_."

There was a cough at Sam's elbow. Three angry pairs of eyes focused on their waitress, who was standing next to Sam with a pitcher of iced tea in her right hand. "More tea?" she asked softly, swallowing.

"No," Dean said sharply, glaring at Charlotte before turning a pleading eye towards his little brother. "Just the freaking bill." The waitress nodded, once, and scurried away.

Shemhezai was singing, a soft language that Sam dimly recognized. A song of triumph, a song of dominion. He squared his jaw. _No fucking way you win, you slithering freak! _

But the damn thing kept singing.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Dean swerved off the road, hands tight around the steering wheel, before they reached the turnoff to the orphanage. Sam had been staring at his brother since they left the restaurant – Dean's eyes glassy in the lights from oncoming cars, his throat working silently. The few times Sam glanced at Charlotte, she was curled up into as small a ball as she could manage in the backseat, arms around her knees.

The little girl was screwed. Fortunately for her, she had Sam Winchester on her side.

Dean turned off the lights on the Impala. Guided by the waning moon in the sky, Dean drove the car unerringly towards a hole in the wall that surrounded the orphanage. Sam's eyes widened. In the moonlight, Sam recognized the wall – it was the first wall the Dreamlings had led them towards last night. Dean must have recognized it; he shook his head sharply and slammed his hand on the steering wheel before opening the front door.

Sam was out of the car before Charlotte was, meeting Dean at the trunk. They pulled out several flashlights and Dean was loading a gun into every holster he was wearing; Dean was even using his back holster with a shotgun. Hazel eyes rolled when Sam put his hands around the hilt of the sword, pulling it out of the car. They had found a makeshift scabbard for it to mask most of its glow, but the hilt and pommel still shone blue between Sam's fingers. _And Charlotte doesn't think I know what I'm doing._

"You planning on painting a bulls-eye on your chest that screams 'Beata here,' Sammy?" Dean said softly, but the scorn in his voice was obvious. "Jesus!"

"Let it go," Sam replied evenly. This is _my_ fucking sword, and I'm going to use it."

Dean's face looked pained, and he sighed. Once. "Let's go save the girl."

"What? So now you're going to be nice to me?" Sam snorted. "You're unbelievable, Dean. You actually think I'll change my mind about leaving because you're being nice to me." His older brother needed to know the truth before the end of the gig, because Sam wouldn't have the chance to tell him after Sam walked away. He leaned forward towards Dean and whispered, "I wish I used a shotgun that wasn't full of rock salt."

"And I wish you had never been born," Dean hissed, his throat showing a swallow. "Mom would still be alive if it wasn't for _you_." He closed the trunk of the Impala as quietly as possible, and Sam would have sworn there was moisture on his face except that Dean's face was clear when he glared at him. "Where the fuck is Charlie?"

"You think I keep track of Emo Girl?" Sam replied.

"I'm right here," a disembodied voice came from Dean's right. There was a cluster of gossamer strands opening, and Charlotte appeared in the midst of it. "I told you I could hide myself." She sounded like she was on the verge of tears. _Figures._ "I don't need either of you to keep an eye on me," she added.

"You've been able to do that all along?" Dean asked.

"Ten years of hiding in that house, I made certain no one would ever find me if I didn't want them to." Charlotte said it matter-of-factly. "But you wouldn't care about that."

Dean looked like he was going to say something to that, but if they started fighting Sam knew they wouldn't let up. "Great story, Charlotte. Let's go save the girl, and when we're done, you and Dean can have one hell of a fight for old time's sake before you grab your duffel and head to Washington, D.C."

"Asshole," Charlotte whispered, before she slipped back into the shadows.

Dean started walking through the hole in the wall, and Sam followed. The light from the moon was enough – they didn't need to use their flashlights to navigate through the trees. He had no way of knowing whether Charlotte was coming with them or not, but once he thought he heard her breathing when Dean stopped before a fissure in a hill. There was enough space for them to pass through, and a trail that looked like it was leading from the orphanage.

"It's in here," Dean said softly. His eyes looked broken, just like the rest of him. _Goddamn broken Dean._ "The cave. The altar."

Sam nodded. "Let's go." _Goddamn broken Winchesters. _He was better off without them. Dean. Dad. One final job, and Sam would be alone. The way he had liked it when he was back at Stanford. The only thing missing would be Jess. _Goddamn Azazeal._

The cave smelled like an animal had crawled inside of it and died – a whole herd of animals. There was moisture in the air. Dean kept his flashlight low, just enough light to walk by. Sam didn't even turn on his flashlight, staying as close to Dean as he could. The final job. There was a certain amount of peace in knowing that. All he would have to do was take out the Circle, and Sam would have earned his normal life. Dean could still hunt on his own, but Sam would rip out that demon inside and go back to school. Stop hunting. Make amends for Jess. And the visions would go away.

Sam Winchester would save the world.

Alone.

Dean jumped nimbly off a short ledge, landing on his feet with the same preternatural grace that marked every act he made. Sam followed suit, hiking easily down the berm and joining his brother. Behind them came a determined sigh and then a small cry as Charlotte appeared at their feet, sitting flat on her ass with her hands braced behind her back. Her skirt was around her thighs, and Sam could see the shiny glow of scars on both legs in the flashlight's beam. Dean was staring at Charlotte, and she picked herself up off the ground as gracefully as anyone could after the hem of her skirt got caught under the foot of her walking cast.

"If you just fucked this up, Charlie…" Dean murmured, and then shook his head.

"Just shut up," she hissed, staring him down.

Dean turned away first, and started following the right-hand side of the cave, shrugging his shoulders resolutely. He walked slowly, and a gust of carrion-filled air blasted towards them from what Sam supposed was the cavern. There was light flickering ahead of them, and Dean turned off his flashlight. _Enough light to see by._ Both Dean and Sam slowed their pace, staying as close to the wall as they could while the entered the cavern.

There weren't enough shadows to hide in, but the nurse had her back to them as they slowly entered the cavern. Sam's foot came down on a bone, and the nurse's shoulders twitched when it cracked. _Fuck!_ He held the sword in his right hand, blade on the side – ready to pull off the scabbard when he needed it, and close enough to get the job done in a matter of seconds.

Sam couldn't see Charlotte anywhere. _Damn girl went back to the freaking car!_

"You're late," Agnes said, following it up with a clucking sound at the back of her throat.

Sam heard the click of a round being shunted into the chamber. Dean was holding his favorite Glock at the ready, the gun butt braced on the palm – and he had a perfect shot at the nurse. "Step away from the girl," Dean said, his voice sounding stronger than it had since they left the car.

The scabbard was off the sword, and a blue glow flashed in the cavern. "We mean it, bitch!" Sam added. Dean was glaring at him – like it was always Dean's job to save the day while Sam came behind and cleaned up after him. Sam Winchester wasn't the fucking maid. "Let the goddamn girl go," Sam bellowed.

"I'll trade you my girl for yours," the nurse said, and a burst of air flew from her hand. It connected with a cluster of gossamer strands, and Charlotte was flung backwards into a pile of bones – her body skidding like she was a doll. "If you can find her," Agnes added. When she stepped away from the altar, Sam saw that the figure writhing upon it was not a little girl. The nurse had tied John Smiley to the altar.

"Did you honestly believe it would be that simple," the demon shook its gray-haired head, her voice calm. "That I would hand over the girl? Do you know how pain feels when you eat it? A girl you can cut – "

"Bitch!" Dean screamed, and a bullet landed right between the demon's eyes.

Agnes laughed. "Pain can heal." She reached forth her hand again, and Dean doubled over. The bullet pushed out of her forehead, the wound healing. "Bad children need to be punished, Beata."

Charlotte was whimpering and Dean was on his knees. Sam knew he didn't need them anyway. This was his fight. Sam would prove that he had learned his father's lessons just as well as Dean ever had. Sam would show Charlotte that he was Called and he was Chosen – and he didn't need her help to save the world. He didn't need Dean's help. They were both lost causes. Broken. Too broken to even realize it.

The sword was fire in his hands, and the scream echoing off the walls of the cavern was his own. Sam leapt forward, pushing himself with the force of his will, and the power filled him. Flowed through him. Agnes' face stretched in front of his, morphing into a demon's visage as a claw slashed across his face. His left eye made a popping noise, and filled with darkness; Sam could feel the blood pouring down his cheek underneath where his eye used to be. Agnes threw it at his feet.

Goddamn Dean was shrieking something, but Sam didn't care. This was his fight. He was going to win. Blue sigils erupted on his skin. Sam could feel their call, the power of God flowing through him. He charged, cutting into Agnes' arm with the Light of God. The demon screamed, and kicked him backwards with a quick stab of her foot. Another claw ripping through his thigh, and the sword began to burn.

Sam tried to scream as his free hand reached down and picked up the eye, crushing it. The sigils on the hand were glowing orange, a flicker of fire deep within the symbols. "I was fond of his eyes," a soft voice said. His own voice, only touched with a music that was older than the stars. Brighter than time. "Do you know what I am, little one?" the thing asked with Sam's own voice.

"I do not care," Agnes returned with a hiss. "You are nothing but a phantom in a meat bag. Your kind cares nothing for us. You left us to die!" Two more slashes against each arm, the sword burning so strong now the body let it go. _Shemhezai_ let it go. Sam was just a whimpering thing in the back of his own brain. Chunks of the body's flesh lay on the ground. "I kill the meat bag, I kill you!" the demon shrieked.

"Do it," Shemhezai jeered. "I don't need this shell."

Agnes' face twisted into a wide grin. "I am not so easily fooled," she said. And with a loud cackle, she slammed her right claw into the body's abdomen, while Shemhezai howled in the head. Sigils flickering madly, more orange as Shemhezai moved to fill the spaces Sam was running from, cowering in the corner of his brain while the thing started Ascending.

As the demon picked up his body, staring up into his face with sharp-edged fingers digging into the meat of his belly, Sam's entire body was covered in orange sigils. He had just enough control to laugh, a self-deprecating chuckle that echoed through the little corner where he was hiding. Sam Winchester got his wish.

He was alone.

* * *

A/N:

I constructed the name of the demon, _Cordi Peredo_, without any help from the usual suspects – which means it's probably poorly done, and something Charlie ordinarily wouldn't be using. My Latin is about 20 years rusty at this point.

There was a tiny reference to _Office Space_ – there and then gone in a 'flash.' :-P

For the curious, the _Atlanta Constitution-Journal_ is a real newspaper in Atlanta, GA.

The title of this chapter is a song by Peter Gabriel.

At this point, you definitely know the drill: Criticism is always welcome, and comments make my inner fangirl dizzy. (Well, dizzier. I am, by nature, very dizzy in my head.)


	12. Under Pressure

This is set sometime after the end of Season 1. While it doesn't break canon to my knowledge, it is definitely AU. The Winchesters' backs are against the wall when Sam's life hangs in the balance.

* * *

Disclaimer: The Winchester boys aren't mine. The Colt isn't mine. Wish the car was mine. But I can only blame myself for the Circle of Enoch.

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Charlotte Webb, Agnes Bennett, John Smiley, (OFC) Ellie Jenkins

Rating: PG-13 (Dean likes to swear. Angst. Whumpage. Mild gore.)

Summary: What goes up must come down.

Feedback: Absolutely! Concrit is always welcome!

Miscellaneous: As always, this would not have been possible without the brilliance of JMM0001, whom I would hug mightily for her pacing notes throughout and her feedback on the last section…except she's in Canada. Much thanks to the lovely wenchpixie, who patiently put up with every variation of text between daily revisions, sending me beta notes daily and allowing me to use her meta commentary as dialogue. Both acted as my betas for this chapter, and they should be able to indulge in Dean Winchester Ice Cream Therapy daily for everything I put them through. The good parts are because of them. The bad parts are all me.

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**Chapter Eleven: Under Pressure**

When she was growing up, Charlotte learned the value of silence.

Silence was an art, cultivated for self-preservation. The others would run roughshod through the house, released from their studies for an afternoon's well-earned play – and Charlotte would freeze where she stood, usually balanced on a pair of crutches because of the grafts. The boys always taunted her when they saw her, called her names in their sing-song voices. Only Meg treated her with any sort of care, until the day she began her advanced studies and something broke within her. It was easier for Charlotte to pretend that she wasn't there, even holding her breath until they passed her by and she hobbled back down the hall to her room.

But the taunts of little boys paled in comparison to what happened when Celeste Webb found her – or when Richard Masters noticed the little red-haired girl with tainted blood. _Judas Iscariot had red hair, Charlotte. Jezebel had red hair, too – and she's the world's most famous whore. Do you know what that means?_ Charlotte always knew what it meant – that she would grow up to ruin everything, with her useless gift and her scarred skin, completely unable to resist any temptation thrown at her. The only place she was safe was the library; Jacob Morrison didn't seem to mind her being there with him while he worked, curled up in a chair with one of her books.

Silence was the prelude to becoming a shadow, wandering through hallways without anyone even realizing Charlotte was there – caught behind so many shields that not even Jacob could find her. It wasn't that she disappeared so much as became unnoticeable, a phantom walking beside them in the midst of a cocoon that masked every emotion running through her.

Every plan of escape – every dream of a different life – had one constant; Charlotte Webb would never hide again, would never feel so small that she wanted to curl into a ball and disappear – like she had when she heard other children laughing, or saw her mother's gray eyes flash. When the whispered voices mentioned her father's name in hushed tones, and how she would come to no good because of her father's blood.

She trudged behind Sam, staring at his back. Charlotte shivered. The look on Dean's face when she fell down, her skirt around her thighs, was almost enough to make her turn back. She couldn't even stand up properly. Sam had actually chuckled when her skirt got caught on her cast, but Dean had just glared at her like that little girl was going to die and it was Charlotte's fault. She could see it in his eyes – even if she felt something else when Dean looked at her.

Becoming a shadow was the easiest thing to do.

Charlotte pulled her shields up, one by one, as they walked further into the cavern. Each step brought another breath, each breath brought another shield. _Remember your lessons. _She could almost hear Jacob standing beside her, his calm voice in her ear. Charlotte stifled a laugh. No lesson could help her now. She was a scarred little girl, her mother's daughter. Following the Winchesters with a cramped leg, and no clue what she could do to save any of them. Charlotte was dead the moment the Circle found her. How could a lifetime of lessons, a lifetime of languages, save her from that?

Charlotte could feel the malice in the large room ahead – even before Dean turned off his flashlight, and the Winchester brothers began sneaking into the room. That thing wasn't a hybrid, a human walking around with the soul of a demon; it was a demon incarnate, hiding in plain sight. So strong it didn't need a human host, could pull a semblance of flesh around itself to walk on the Earth. _One of the old ones._ Another lesson – about those that Shemhezai and its brethren left behind. Angry and repudiated, the thing in the cavern had lived thousands of years completely cut off from its source – mutating into something else.

She wasn't surprised when Dean made his challenge. She wasn't surprised when Sam backed it up – rage boiling inside of him as the one thing Charlotte feared more than the Circle of Enoch danced its own Ascension. But when the _Cordi Peredo_ raised its hand and flung Charlotte backwards into a pile of bones, she knew that Death wasn't coming for her. What was coming for her – what was coming for Dean – was something so much worse. The _Cordi Peredo_ would use them until they were nothing bit mindless things, another extension of itself. And that was the happy ending. Armaros was the nightmare. Shemhezai was Armageddon.

A wheeze slipped from deep inside, the bones pushing into her back as she shifted on top of them. Charlotte's chest felt like it was surrounded by iron bands, and it burned almost as badly as her entire left thigh. Both of the Winchesters were screaming – raw cries that made Charlotte want to scuttle backwards. Sam was screeching his defiance while Dean shrieked something else. Hunger. Rage. The need to kill. It echoed deep within her chest, the urge to scratch and bite until they were all gone. Torn apart.

It was the answer. It made sense – the only way to escape the demon, to escape Armaros.

To escape each other.

Charlotte rolled onto her stomach, pushing herself up quickly as she faced Dean, lips pulled back and hands at the ready. She didn't even have to close her eyes to see her teeth tear into his neck, and only the smallest piece of Charlotte screamed against the vision. A miniscule spark that still believed in old lessons, the tiniest part that saw Sam Winchester hanging three feet in the air with a demon's claw jammed within his belly – orange sigils springing to life across his skin. The world ending with a whimper. But the rest of her knew it was the end for all three of them. It was time – time to put the Winchesters behind her. There was a price for pretending that she mattered and then marking her as a phantom thing.

Dean Winchester would be the first.

He roared, and Charlotte shifted on her feet, facing him with a shattering pain in her thigh. His entire upper body was burning – red marks upon his chest that blazed through his shirt until all that was left was his skin and the red symbol the flames left behind. _Dissidium!_ It was Jacob's voice. But Charlotte Webb had never been the girl that old librarian thought he knew, and the memory did not matter. She would never be that girl. Those lessons were lost on her, but she remembered the man's words all the same.

Death was inevitable. No way to fix the pain Dean brought but to kill him, no way to scratch out the canker except with teeth and fingers. The jaws that bite. The claws that catch.

Another scream.

_Sam!_ The tiniest part was getting smaller, a bird beating within her ribcage as the demon shook Sam and threw him on the ground like a rag doll, but it felt _him_ – a little boy, and a fire, and the baby in his arms. _Dean…_ Hazel eyes met hers and softened, the hex on his chest shifting wildly from red to a blue glow – until suddenly, the light was so bright the symbol shattered, sparking against the candlelight from the demon's altar as it broke apart. Just so many pieces of nothing.

The _Cordi Peredo_ snarled, its challenge answered by a shout – the only battle cry that Dean Winchester could make as he charged forward.

"Sammy!"

And the tiniest part inside that was still Charlotte hoped that it would be enough – that defiant cry of a little boy who carried a baby through a burning house – as her throat swelled. An inferno consumed her entire left leg. She wanted to rend, to gouge, and her head thrummed within its own rage as Dean rapidly shifted his attention – taking on a demon with nothing but a large knife he pulled from an arm sheathe. Charlotte glared, eyes narrowed. There was always Sam, mewling on the ground while his older brother battled the demon. _Easy prey._ Too broken to move. Too broken to fight back. Dean could die later. She prepared herself, taking a breath.

_You are Called, and You are Chosen._

The first step brought the first lesson. _You are Beata. You go where you are needed most, and you fight the unbeatable foe. _Charlotte closed her eyes – so many voices, a myriad of recitations about duty and blessings and the reasons why the Beata served. So many voices, calling to her amidst the stark need to rip Sam Winchester apart with her fingers. She felt the rush of a claw across her left arm, eyes whipped open as Dean fell backwards, knife dropping out of his hand from the force of the blow. And the tiniest part sang inside of her, a small voice breaking through the red haze of her vengeance, with the need to protect Dean. Called for him, she remembered. Always called for him. Twice in one day.

The second step brought with it a scalding jolt through her body, the blaze licking up her legs, past her abdomen and arm. _The only thing you can do, when faced with the strength of love's purity, is stand with it. _A little girl brave enough to find her father when she felt him dying. It was her father's lesson, repeated so often in Jacob's patient voice that Charlotte could recite it – could recall them all – as easy as breathing. Sam stirred in front of the creature. Worry beating against rage, trying to fight the same burning desire to slay that resonated within her. Dean charged the _Cordi Peredo_, and was slammed down when the thing raised a shield – a physical shield powered by children's laughter, every single tendril connecting to the thing's chest pulsing in time with the shine around it. Sam always hated it when children got hurt, she remembered.

When she finished her third step, Charlotte was at Dean's side. _When your back's against the wall, show them what you're made of. _ He rolled, half on his knees – eyes level with the fabric burning off her skirt. Fire slammed through her thigh and she almost fell, a red hex that marked her as Dissidium's victim. And Charlotte knew, with her third breath, that there was one way to get past the _Cordi Peredo_'s shield; it would take both of them, Dean's strength and her training. Because Dean would always save his brother – and not even one of the Unforgiven Curses could stop him. When blue fragments splintered like snowflakes against Dean Winchester's startled face, Charlotte believed.

They were Called and they were Chosen.

And Sam needed them.

Charlotte swallowed. "Do you trust me?" she asked, holding her hand out to Dean. _Please…_

"Hell, yeah!" he returned – his hand warm, strong fingers encircling hers before she even finished the question – with the same determined look on his face that he had the night before while they were researching together. And somehow, Charlotte pulled Dean to his feet without falling down.

"I'm not strong enough," she said. "I need…" How could she explain what she needed, when it was all instinct?

"Take it," Dean replied simply, staring down at their hands. Charlotte had already started. Where their fingers touched, the Ziv Zakai spilled between them – growing stronger the closer Charlotte came to a Dean Winchester no one else knew. A little boy so strong that he could carry the weight of his mother's death in silence, a little boy who cared nothing about his own life; the only thing that mattered was protecting Sammy. Still. The only thing that mattered.

_When we were young, I pretty much pulled him from a fire. _

Charlotte's eyes flung open. Dean was underneath the edges of her skin, strength born by need, and they were doing something she'd never read about in her books. _An impossible thing. _Sam's body twisted just enough towards the blue light for Charlotte to see a red glow underneath flickering seals on his back – orange then blue then orange – while the _Cordi Peredo_'s cold laughter echoed in the chamber. But there was fear coming from the thing, a chink in the shield, as it realized what Charlotte already knew.

There was a power in that cave strong enough to break an Unforgiven Curse, and nothing was stopping it from getting to Sam Winchester.

Nothing.

"_Convello_!" The word flew from Charlotte's lips, the desire to protect coalesced into a spear that shattered the demon's shield. She fell to her knees as the shield fractured, letting go of Dean's hand as his body shifted. _It's your turn._ He leapt forward, pulling another knife from its sheathe, while Sam's hand inched towards the sword. She choked back a cry when she realized his left eye was missing. Sam rocked to his knees with one arm pressed across his stomach.

The demon drew back its hand, screaming its defiance as Dean jabbed with his knife – a quick, economical strike. It was almost too beautiful to watch, Dean Winchester dancing around the demon so gracefully that tears came to her eyes. _How long do you train to be able to fight like that?_ The _Cordi Peredo_ tried to gather its strength – Charlotte could feel it – but the tendrils connecting it to the children had been cut along with the shield. This was their best chance. _Our only chance. _Dean's knife skittered across the demon's stomach, its claw inches away from slicing across Dean's throat. With a scream, Sam pushed his older brother out of the way – taking the cut across his shoulder.

The Light of Dawn shone blue in Sam Winchester's hands, every sigil on his body matching its color, and the Dissidium hex burning on his back exploded into blue sparks. "Enough," Sam said clearly, his voice soft but reverberating within them all as though he had shouted it, and the sword pierced cleanly through the _Cordi Peredo_'s chest where the tendrils used to be. The thing shrieked, filling with the Ziv Zakai until it blew apart before their eyes. _In the hands of the Liberator_, Jacob's voice reminded her, _the Light of Dawn will destroy the unrighteous._

The boy with the demon inside had saved them all.

The sword clattered to the ground, and the Ziv Zakai disappeared. All that remained was the broken body of Sam Winchester falling backwards into his brother's arms, Dean already there to catch Sam as he fell. And there was a sob, choked down deep inside, when Dean looked down at his little brother and saw the missing eye, the chunks of flesh gouged from arms and legs. The entrails bulging through the rips in Sam's stomach. Sam's left hand was holding onto something tightly, and when Charlotte gently pried open his fingers, she found what was left of his eye.

God help them, Sam was still breathing.

Charlotte was crying, and she didn't care. There were so many things to say to both of them – the need to wrap them both in her arms and hold them while she apologized for what she said and for not recognizing the hex and told them how brave they both were and that she could still feel the thunder at their backs – but all that mattered was ripping off a strip of what was left of her skirt and gently placing Sam's eye in it. And then she was taking off her sweater, handing it to Dean as he tried to staunch the hole where Sam's eye had been, using another part to press down into the wounds on Sam's belly. More strips of her skirt around Sam's arms, as soothingly as she could.

But it wasn't enough.

They had broken an unbreakable curse – and God alone knew how the three of them had managed _that_ – but whatever that power was, it couldn't keep Sam from dying right before their eyes.

"Dean…" Sam's voice wasn't even a whisper, his one eye closed as he spoke. "So sorry…"

"Don't talk, Sammy," his older brother replied. Dean's voice was strong, even though his eyes looked like his soul was breaking. "You need to save your strength until we get help."

"It's coming." Sam even tried to sit up. They all knew what he was talking about. "Leave."

Dean couldn't say anything to that. Charlotte brought one hand, trembling, to Sam's forehead. He was burning, stronger than anything the hex could have done, and the brief touch ripped through her like a battering ram. "It's not coming," Charlotte said, trying to make her voice as strong as Dean's had been, trying not to let Sam hear that she was still crying. "We won't let it," she added.

"Can't stop it," Sam returned, a brief smile on his lips. He couldn't even open his good eye.

Broken boys like this were the reason she was made. Dean was looking at her, his eyes widening when he realized what Charlotte was doing – one hand on Sam's forehead, and the other pressing down on top of the sweater against Sam's abdomen. "Charlie!" Dean's voice was sharp, scratching past the pain that filled her. It hurt worse than anything she knew – the fire, physical therapy after surgeries, the cold burn up her cheeks when someone laughed at her. It was all that and more, rumbling through her. "Don't do _this_," Dean added. It was a plea, and he _felt_ exactly like he had all morning.

"Get help," Charlotte returned. When Dean opened his mouth to protest, Charlotte's mouth twisted. "I made a promise, Dean." It kept him quiet, but it couldn't keep his face from going white around the eyes when phantom gashes appeared on her arms, on her thigh. Blue light spilling from behind her eye, and from her abdomen. A light so strong that even John Smiley gasped from the altar. There was a question on Dean's face. It hurt so goddamn much, and if it were anyone else but Sam, she wasn't sure she could do it. "I can hold on long enough," Charlotte added.

"Got a better idea," Dean said abruptly. "I'm sending someone else for help." She could feel something waver inside of Dean, saw the first emergence of a tendril. _He's using his Gift! _And he was doing it on instinct, based on what he had seen her do over the last ten days. "I'm coming back, Charlie." She shook, nodding to let him know she understood. _Daddy, it hurts._ "Goddamn," Dean added, so softly it was barely a breath, "You're the strongest – " He shook his head, brushing her cheek with his hand.

And then he was gone. Charlotte could hear him talking to the administrator, the flick of a knife cutting through rope as he spoke. Sam was moaning, a low grumble in his throat. She brushed his forehead, focusing on her breathing – on anything that would get her through to the next breath. Sam's chest moved shallowly, his own breathing labored. His skin was clammy, and if Sam wasn't already in shock, he was certainly on his way. He needed to know that she was still there. "Stay with me, Sam," Charlotte said softly.

Dean was still talking in his low voice, and she could hear the administrator's voice agreeing with whatever Dean was saying. _Focus!_ Charlotte matched her breathing with Sam's, each gasp coming more slowly than the previous breath – and there was a hollow rasp echoing through her head. Charlotte hoped like hell it wasn't coming from Sam. His entire body was shaking, and her abdomen felt like it was being split open from the inside, fingers peeling back her rib cage. The sweater underneath her hand began to move.

When orange fingers grabbed Charlotte's wrist, she screamed.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Sam was blown to pieces – just so many tattered edges with nothing to do but fall apart. He was caught in the maelstrom. His body had stopped being his own long ago, and now his mind was twisting. Twisting in a wind filled with glass shards, as the thing called Shemhezai roared in its prison – preparing for its Ascension. It would be so much easier to give up and stop hurting.

But Sam was a goddamn Winchester.

His stomach ached – even with cool fingers on his forehead brushing away the sharp undercurrents of the throbbing that rolled through his abdomen. Sam was freezing, no longer able to feel his hands or his feet. His body stopped registering the cold dirt packed underneath him, the sharp edges of the bones on the ground. And the stench of the _Cordi Peredo_'s lair was nothing compared to the oily slither of the monster through his rib cage.

Shemhezai was laughing, a slippery resonance throughout Sam's entire head. _She cannot hold on forever, boy. _Sam knew it was true – there was no way Charlotte could encompass the pain while Shemhezai slipped around the edges of the wounds in his stomach, waiting for her guard to drop. Hell, the thing was close to cracking her open long enough for Armaros to try and slip inside. But Shemhezai believed that Sam was too far gone to fight, that Sam could do nothing to stop it from Ascending. Dean wasn't going to leave, Charlotte was just as stubborn and Sam was a goddamn Winchester.

"Stay with me, Sam."

Charlotte's voice was soft, always soft, but Dean had no clue how strong that girl was. Just like Dean – believing he was broken but never seeing what really mattered. Those two had to get out. Sam would hold on long enough for them to realize that they needed to leave.

_Why do you not give up?_

Because they were not ants just waiting to be stepped on – even when they were powerless. Whatever power Sam could call was fickle, and Shemhezai knew that, was a constant witness to Sam's inner struggle whenever sigils began flashing across his skin, shimmering across his cheekbones. Sam couldn't even feel Charlotte's fingers on his forehead anymore, and he was getting smaller in his own head – Shemhezai expanding to fill all the spaces that Sam was leaving behind. But Sam felt arms around him, from long ago, as a crackling noise engulfed him and the world was an angry flicker.

The beast screamed, pounding its song against Sam's ribs.

White light against the back of his eye. Every breath brought a stabbing pain through Sam's stomach, and he gasped – trying to catch his breath. It was pushing harder now, fingers peeling through Sam's ribcage. But no matter how far the thing pushed, the smallest piece of Sam Winchester remained – holding onto the sharp-edged denial of everything he had lost because of this thing. A high-pitched scream broke through the creature's laughter.

And then there were the arms again – Charlotte's cool fingers brushing his forehead, the smell of Dean's leather jacket – fighting against the hands rattling through Sam's abdomen. Both of them together, too stubborn to leave Sam to die alone; watching in horror so thick even he could feel it, waiting for Shemhezai to Ascend.

"Fight the goddamn bastard, Sammy!"

But Sam wasn't even sure he could do that for Dean. Not anymore. As he let himself go, Sam's last wish was simple – that Dean would know that Sam never really wanted to be alone, that whatever pulled those words out of Sam didn't speak with Sam Winchester's voice. And that Charlotte would stay, so that Dean never would be.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

It wasn't working.

Even with Dean kneeling next to her, keeping her upright, it wasn't enough. Charlotte couldn't hold in the pain anymore. All she wanted was for Dean to cradle her in his arms because it ached, because she was losing his brother – someone who had become her friend – no matter how hard she tried. _Selfish Charlotte!_ "Dean – " she began, but Charlotte couldn't say anything more when he looked at her.

"Goddamnit, Charlie! Why won't you let me help you?" Dean frowned as she lowered her eyes. _Because I don't want your last memory of Sam to be his death._ "He's my little brother." And Dean's voice trembled when he said it. "Please," he added, and Charlotte had to raise her head and look at him in spite of herself. _The eyes of a son who lost his mother._

Charlotte found her voice. "Because it's going to hurt you, Dean." _More than you know._

"Don't care," he replied. "It'll buy us some time until that guy gets back." Dean's voice was soft. John Smiley had taken one look at Sam's broken body – including the phantom hand reaching out of his belly – and pulled out his cell phone, running out of the cavern because he didn't have any reception. "And I know he's dying," Dean added, his eyes shining at her. "You can't protect me from that anymore than I can protect _you_."

Charlotte nodded, tears spilling down her cheeks as she brought down the barrier between them – letting some of the pain spill over into Dean. He sucked in a breath, and his eyes widened when the Ziv Zakai broke out all over his skin. Sweat beading on his forehead. Bloodless gashes opening on his arms, on his stomach. Charlotte knew it hurt, but all she could do was squeeze his hand. His little brother was dying and Dean Winchester was feeling it.

_Please, God…_ It was enough; Dean was strong, and Charlotte was able to dig deeper into the ache streaming through Sam's body and take more of it inside of herself – sharing it with Dean, hoping Sam would know that he wasn't alone. And it started _working_; Charlotte could feel the lightest touch, a brief flicker of the boy who challenged her to a practical joke contest, and they almost caught him – until something shoved back.

A second orange hand appeared out of Sam's belly.

Dean's eyes were wild. "Fight the goddamn bastard, Sammy!" he screamed. His hand was holding onto Charlotte's so tightly, her wrist would snap if Dean jumped.

Charlotte opened her mouth to say something, but was interrupted by a yell from the entrance into the cavern. "Ellie, no!" It was John Smiley. Charlotte looked away from Dean while two figures approached. One of them was the administrator, and the worry filtering off of him was enough to snake its way past the pain inside of Sam. The other was a little black girl, dressed in Winnie the Pooh pajamas. Her hair was caught up into tiny braids, and there was a sad look in her brown eyes. The little girl was beautiful, perfect. And so tiny.

Dean started the moment he saw her. Ellie placed one hand on Dean's arm. "Uncle Aaron says this is where I need to be now," the little girl said softly, a shy smile appearing on her face. And when Charlotte jumped, Ellie's smile was replaced with a down turned expression. "He said you would know me, Charlie. Tamiel." _The Perfection of God._ Charlotte's heart lurched – the little girl wasn't just Beata. Ellie was one of the Twelve. And Aaron could only be one person.

There wasn't time to think – not about _that_. Sam was writhing on the ground, moaning; and the orange hands were becoming more opaque as he groaned. Ellie just looked down at Sam's face. "Where is his eye?" she asked softly, and she looked scared. Ellie took a deep breath. "Sam needs his eye," the little girl added. "We can't fix him without his eye."

Charlotte glanced at Dean; he just grimaced, an appeal in the thrust of his shoulders. "Don't look, Ellie," Charlotte replied, trying not to get sick as she pulled the eye out of the pocket she had made for it. Dean held all of Sam's pain, his little brother's back arching as the hands pulled open wider, and Charlotte winced as she pushed the eye back into the bloody socket. One dry heave, and then her right hand was back on Sam's forehead – the left on Dean's hand – as she settled back on her knees beside him.

Ellie swallowed. "It doesn't look right." The little girl frowned, put one hand on top of Charlotte's – pressing down onto Sam's forehead. And Charlotte felt the power burst forth from the little girl, a blue glow that surrounded Ellie while her braids blew within their own breeze. The sound coming out of Sam was beyond a scream, Dean's jaw clenched tightly at the noise. Ellie cocked her head, like she was listening to someone, and then Charlotte felt a tap on her forehead. _Time now, baby girl._

The voice she could never refuse.

Charlotte knew what she had to do. Instinct. And what they were doing was supposed to be impossible – two empaths and a girl who could regenerate healing Sam Winchester's broken body. But the Ziv Zakai was pouring through her, pouring through Dean – hazel eyes wide, and his jacket blown backwards from his body. Pouring through Ellie, a little girl who trusted the man's voice in her head. Not one book had prepared Charlotte for this. It wasn't possible but it was happening all the same – between a little girl who could heal herself, Dean's connection to his brother, and Charlotte's ability to share pain.

And the glow became so bright, Charlotte had to look away.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

It was the smell that registered first – like a charnel house – followed by the sound of his older brother's heavy breathing. Sam opened his eyes, focusing on three faces floating above him. The vision in his left eye was fuzzy – but Sam was just thankful he could still partially see out of it. He could make out Dean staring at him like he'd just seen a miracle, Charlotte smiling her shy little smile while she stroked Sam's forehead. And there was a little girl who matched the description in Dean's vision. He winced, remembering what he had told Dean, what he thought Sam believed. Sam hadn't saved that little girl at all.

The little girl had saved _him_.

Everything Sam had said was still fresh in his mind, coming back to him with the haunted look in Dean's eyes. Sam swallowed; his older brother would kick his ass if Sam tried to apologize in front of Charlotte and the little girl. _No chick flick moments._ "Hey," Sam said softly, one hand touching his belly. It was whole – covered in healing scabs, but whole. No demon coming out of it – Sam could barely feel the thing slinking inside of him.

But he had to say something besides one stupid word. Sam sat up, trying out a grin on Dean. "Took you long enough to back me up, doofus." Sam said it lightly, the little girl suddenly climbing into his lap and putting her arms around his neck. "How long were you going to let my bony ass hang out there, any way?"

"It was an object lesson, Sam." His older brother's voice sounded like their father's – but Dean was returning his smile, hazel eyes sparkling back at Sam. "What have I told you about not using a fucking gun?"

"Dean said a bad word," the little girl pointed out, her head resting on Sam's chest. "You said a bad word, too."

Sam snorted. "Dean says lots of bad words." He coughed. "And I say them because of Dean," Sam added solemnly, smiling at the little girl in his arms. He could feel her cheek on his chest; she was smiling, too. "Are you Ellie?" he asked. It made sense. The little girl getting the nightmares was probably a little girl who could heal him. Charlotte nodded when she heard the question.

"Yep," Ellie replied. "And you're Sam. I know about all of you. Uncle Aaron told me." Charlotte started when the little girl said the name. _Oh, God… _ Ellie snuggled into his arms, and Sam's heart stuttered against his chest – he never thought anyone would trust him again, not with that thing inside of him. "He even told me that I'm not supposed to make fun of Charlie when she sings," Ellie said seriously, following it up with a sigh before burrowing against him and then she was giggling.

Ellie's laugh made Sam feel better than anything had in his entire life. It was going to be hard, fixing what they broke in the last twelve hours, but maybe things were going to be okay – they were all alive, somehow. And Shemhezai hadn't Ascended. They had even found the little girl before that demon got to her. _Well, Ellie found **us**._ He was going to try, and maybe this time things wouldn't blow all to hell after they worked things out. Sam opened his mouth to make another crack, to let Dean know they weren't totally broken – that they were still brothers – but the words stopped short in his throat.

Dean wouldn't have listened.

He was too busy kissing Charlotte, his hands entangled in her hair – and that waitress had _nothing_ on the redhead when it came to kissing. Dean sure as hell wasn't pushing Charlotte away, and Charlotte just held onto him as tightly as she could – like she was never letting him go. Ever. Even Ellie was staring at them. "How do they breathe like that, Sam?" the little girl asked, her voice a loud whisper. "Doesn't it hurt?"

Sam snorted as they broke the kiss. _Holy shit!_ Dean's cheeks were just as red as Charlotte's when he pulled away from her, and suddenly there was a foot of space between them. "Why don't you ask Dean?" Sam suggested, grinning as Dean snuck a glance at Charlotte when she wasn't looking. "He has a lot of experience in kissing," Sam added.

"Sammy!"

"_I'll_ never forget _Dean Winchester's Guide to Tonguing Chicks._" Sam returned. It was Charlotte's turn to look at Dean while his older brother stared open-mouthed at Sam. "It was a classic."

"Goddamnit, Sam!" Dean pursed his lips, a sour expression on his face. "I am so kicking your ass!" Charlotte laughed, and Dean grinned before he added, "Once you're able to kick back. I mean, fair is fair, Sammy." Dean leaned forward conspiratorially. "Right now, you pretty much look like crap." And Dean's eyes had a shadow in them – like he wasn't sure how Sam was going to respond.

"Right now, I pretty much feel like crap," Sam returned, trying to hide the catch in his throat. He was going to say more, but footsteps shuffling nearby caught his attention. John Smiley was staring at all of them like they were a traveling freak show, and it was hard not to smile a little at that. _Well, I'm a freak, too. I'm right there with you, all the way._

"What just happened?" the administrator asked, his voice choked in his throat. "Am I going insane?" He took a breath, and John Smiley's shoulders relaxed a little. "Agnes…told me she was going to destroy the three of you for interfering with Ellie. Said she cast a spell on you," he added with a short laugh. "Fill you full of your worst fears so that you would tear each other apart."

"She did," Charlotte said, arms around her stomach, "But you're not going insane, Mr. Smiley. I thought I was, too, the first time I saw something like that." She sighed. "And Agnes definitely wasn't a nurse," she added.

The administrator frowned. "What was she?" John Smiley asked.

Sam swallowed, looking at Dean for an assist. Hazel eyes widened, and Dean just gave a quick shrug of his shoulders. _Well he asked, Sammy. _It was hard to hide the truth from a man who watched a demon nearly gut you right before his eyes. "Well," Sam began, pushing every ounce of sincerity he could muster into it, "There are things in the world that go bump in the night."

"You're the ones that bump back?" John Smiley snorted. "I _have_ seen _Hellboy_." The administrator did a double-take when none of them responded, and Sam felt sorry for him – the recognition that the world was so much darker than people realized. Lost innocence could never be regained. "God," Smiley whispered. "She's only _six_." His eyes flickered across all of them. "And you're just a bunch of kids." _Trying to save the world with a book bag full of research notes and a glowing sword._

"Uncle Aaron says that I have to go with you, Sam." Ellie turned to smile at the administrator. Sam choked, not expecting that in a million years.

"I'm not going to allow that," John Smiley retorted.

"You can't keep her safe here," Sam said, his throat dry with the certainty that it was true. He swallowed. "Ellie's a target, and there are people looking for her," Sam added. "People who will use her Gift to raise something a lot worse than Agnes Bennett." He smiled suddenly, a thought occurring to him as Ellie's arms hugged him as tightly as they could. "Can you fake adoption papers, Mr. Smiley?"

The administrator said nothing but he turned white when Dean added, "And you might want to get Father Caldwell out here to help with the fallout. Lots of kids will need his help." Dean sighed. "Agnes has been hurting them a long time," he said softly.

"You were both on the same side, Mr. Smiley" Charlotte added, smiling at the administrator. "The Church has money for special programs. All Father Stephen wants to do is help the kids."

John Smiley's eyes suddenly filled with tears. "What about this place?"

Dean shrugged his shoulders. "We'll clean it out. The priest can make sure it's sanctified after we leave." He looked over at the altar. _And we'll be helping ourselves to the books._

"_Sanctified_?" The administrator gulped for breath. "What are you people? Guardian angels or something?"

Charlotte burst out laughing first, and she looked so much like a little girl herself that Sam had to laugh with her. Ellie was chuckling, arms firmly around Sam's neck as she snuggled against him. Dean's snort seemed to echo through the entire cavern. His older brother shook his head. "I think we're more _something_ than angels," Dean managed before letting out with the cackle Sam thought he'd never hear again.

When John Smiley started laughing along with them, Sam realized that they might just have pulled off the job. But Aaron was right. Finding Ellie was just the beginning.

And what was coming could _still_ break them all.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Ellie was stretched out in the backseat of the Impala, her head in Charlotte's lap. The little girl was pointing at the stars through the back window, counting them under her breath as they drove back to the motel. Sam and Dean were sitting in the front seat – Sam asking Dean questions, and his older brother responding with one-word answers. Charlotte almost thought things could get back to normal after Sam was healed, when she watched both of them crack jokes – but the jokes couldn't cover the fact that Sam was sitting there with his heart broken, and Dean just kept falling further into the darkness inside.

Like it was where Dean was supposed to be.

They were both blaming themselves for what happened. Charlotte closed her eyes, remembering flashes of what they had said and how they had felt. But if anyone had to shoulder that blame, Charlotte Webb was standing first in line. The moment she recognized the hex, _everything_ fell into place – the edginess, the words that pulled every hurt out into the open and dissected it. She sighed. _The need to kill._ There was no other way for the curse to end. _Dissidium_. Too many years studying Latin rendered its true meaning. _To tear apart._

And they had to know.

"Hey," Charlotte said, her hand brushing through Ellie's hair while she talked. Dean glanced at her in the rear view mirror, and Sam actually turned in his seat to look at her. But it was hard to continue talking when Sam stared at her through an eye so bruised and swollen in his face, it hurt just to look at it. Dean winced whenever his eyes flashed on it. She coughed. "Did your father ever teach you about the Azeali Hexes?"

"Nope," Dean answered.

Sam shook his head. "Why do you ask?"

"Because Agnes used one of them on us." Charlotte frowned. "They were created by Azazeal." Both of them jerked when she said the name, and Sam's face hardened. "According to the Book of Enoch, the 'magic' that Azazeal brought to the world was one of the primary reasons for the first war between the Grigori and the Nephilim. But they're also called the Unforgiven Curses."

"The Unforgiven Curses?" The Winchesters asked in unison.

"Those are just myths, Charlotte," Sam retorted. "I saw them mentioned a couple of times in old research books, but a demon wouldn't use one without good cause. Not to mention the fact that they can't be countered, and we're all still here." It was Sam's turn to frown. "Even Dad didn't believe in them."

"But he had a 'special' book that detailed them," Dean interjected. "All twenty-seven of them." The older Winchester's shoulders tightened. _He believes me?_ "Fuck me, Charlie. You're trying to tell us the Unforgiven Curses are _real_?" He watched her nod in the mirror. "Oh, man. This whole Beata thing just keeps getting better and better, doesn't it?"

"I'm going to make Dean give me a quarter every time he uses a bad word," Ellie interjected. Even Dean chuckled a little bit after Ellie said it, shaking his head ruefully. "That's what Mama Sissy used to do when I lived with her, and Brad kept using bad words." The little girl shifted, and climbed into Charlotte's lap. The only thing she could do was hug Ellie back as tightly as Ellie hugged her.

Somehow, it made it a little easier to talk. Charlotte's mouth twisted wryly. "She used _Dissidium_, the hex of Separation." She swallowed. "But the root of the word means 'to tear apart.' And I didn't recognize it for what it was until the very end!" Charlotte couldn't hide the bitterness in her voice. "I don't even know _how_ all three of us survived. The hex makes our worst fears seem real. And it triggers increasing stages of violence – emotional, physical…" Charlotte's voice trailed off. "Mortal."

"Mortal?" Sam asked, his face almost crumpling.

Charlotte nodded. "The curse ends with its victims tearing each other apart." She shuddered, and Ellie brushed one hand against Charlotte's cheek. _The same cheek he touched._ And she was blushing.

"But the things we said," Sam said, shaking his head. "Leaving Dean? He's my family. Sure, we fight but…" His voice trailed off uncertainly.

"From what I've read, it's one of the more subtle hexes. It preys on things we already fear – the emotions we bury, the feelings we usually ignore. But those feelings carry more weight the moment you give them voice," Charlotte said. And neither Winchester liked the sound of that, almost identical grimaces on their face. "And it's worse for people who already care about each other. There's a lot more to lose." She sighed. _I sound like an idiot._ "I just thought you should know," Charlotte finished lamely.

"Doesn't make it any easier." Sam looked out the window. Dean didn't say anything, but leaned over to flip on the radio. A familiar bass line bounced through the car, and Ellie danced on Charlotte's lap in time to it. Sam suddenly looked at Charlotte with his old dopey grin on his face. "I bet you know the words, Charlotte" he said. As soon as the hook ended for the second time, Sam opened his mouth and yelped, "Ice, ice baby!"

Charlotte snorted – and Dean was right there along with her. "Dude, you listen to _Vanilla_ _Ice_?" Dean asked. Sam didn't say anything, just smiled sheepishly and shrugged his shoulders. "Well, sit back and listen to a real song, Sammy." And Dean turned up the radio, looking into the rear view mirror again. "And I _know_ Charlie knows the words."

She did. Charlotte closed her eyes, smiling a little while Ellie continued to dance, and let the music wash over her. They were lucky – pushed to the edge of breaking and brought back by what Jacob would call a true blessing. Nothing could change the fact that they had managed – somehow – to keep Armageddon at bay, but the price had been too high. Charlotte swallowed, a flash of Sam almost dying across her eyelids. And the aftermath of the spell showed how fragile they were – all three of them victim to their own insecurities and the dark things that were supposed to stay locked inside.

_The Beata bleed, Charlie. Never forget that._

A truth that books could never teach. Charlotte opened her eyes – Dean's shoulders were still tense against the back of the front seat, and Sam was looking out the window; his cute little grin replaced by something else as he kept glancing at Dean. Ellie stopped dancing, abruptly crawling over the top of the seat to sit between Dean and Sam; somehow, Dean managed to keep driving, despite the little girl flailing her way to his side. Ellie laughed, a small laugh that brought a grin to Sam's face – and Dean's eyes softened just a little bit. He even looked at Charlotte in the mirror and smiled.

_Love dares you to care for the people on the edge of the night. _

The Winchesters didn't just live on the edge of the night, they protected anyone unlucky enough to stumble into that darkness – like little girls from orphanages. They both hurt so much that Charlotte wished _she_ was six, so she could hug them without looking like a complete dork. But Sam still laughed when Ellie poked him on the nose, and Dean still kept time to music with this thumbs on the steering wheel when he drove – which was something. _It's everything._ The Winchesters didn't have much, just what they carried in their car – and hearts bigger than the sky.

Even when they were slashed and torn.

Charlotte knew – watching Sam laugh with Ellie, hearing the unconscious rhythm that accompanied the radio – that the Winchesters were the best damn thing to ever happen to a lonely little red-haired girl who spent more time with books than people, hiding in shadows and afraid to even breathe in case someone found her.

There was no way she could leave them now.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Sam was too wired to sleep. He was exhausted as all hell, but there was no way he was going to bed without one final attempt to apologize to Dean. His older brother hadn't been avoiding him – even cracked that joke about the David Bowie song in the car – but it wasn't something Dean was about to bring up after that damn mental hospital in Illinois.

_You're not going to try and kill me, are you? _

Sam wished they had never gone to Rockford. Walking back to the car after the whole rock salt thing felt like walking to his execution. Maybe this was the day when Dean realized they were too broken to fix. And Sam would never get to tell his older brother that Dean would always be family, and home was the Impala.

Ellie rolled over, hitting Sam squarely in the chest. Dean snorted. "Pretty strong little girl," his older brother said. Sam looked at him – Dean had guns spread out all over Charlotte's bed, pieces everywhere; Dean had settled down for the long haul. _So he can't sleep, either. _ But Sam noticed that he had left enough room for Charlotte on the bed.

"Ellie is amazing," Sam said. And she was – the six year old girl that helped save his life. Just five minutes with her in his arms, and Sam knew why Dean was compelled to rescue her because of a vision. Sure, they came across kids on the job, but never one like Ellie. The water in the shower was still going – Charlotte had waited to take her shower after everyone else – but she wasn't singing. _First time she hasn't tried._ That hurt, too. Sam coughed. "So is Charlotte," Sam added. The touch of her fingers on his forehead had given Sam more than she would ever know.

Dean stopped pushing the rod through the barrel of the Glock, eyes flickering towards the bathroom, but he didn't say anything – just sighed and went back to cleaning his gun. _It's going to be one long fucking night._

"Look, Dean." Sam waited until his brother's face focused on his. "I…"

"Sammy." The way Dean said it, it was more than a name.

"But – "

"I don't _want_ to talk about this, Sam." The tone was final. Dean stood up, setting his Glock back onto the bed. In pieces. The water stopped and Dean glanced at the bathroom door. "You make sure Charlie's got her clothes ready. I need some air." His older brother strode towards the door, pulling his leather jacket out of the closet. Dean's shoulders slumped as the door closed behind him.

_Fuck. _

Sam didn't know if Dean was running from him – or Charlotte Webb. He guessed that Charlotte wouldn't press Dean to talk the way that Sam would, but he knew the whole idea of her being an empath still made Dean squirrelly. Dean survived by locking down how he felt; Charlotte blew that wide open just by entering the room.

The door to the bathroom opened, followed immediately by a sharp thud. "Ouch," Charlotte hissed, wobbling through the doorway. "Goddamn door," she muttered, belatedly looking for Ellie. She was limping, dressed in her red-striped pajamas. Somehow, the fact that Charlotte was still a klutz seemed like one of the best things in the world.

"Lucky for you," Sam said with a smile, "She's sleeping."

"Where's Dean?" Charlotte asked, gray eyes looking around the room. After all that, she was still looking out for his older brother.

"Probably halfway to the bar by now," Sam answered, sighing. _She doesn't deserve this._ "Did you put your clothes in the bag?" he asked. It was a standard tactic – they'd take the bloody clothes and burn them somewhere the next day. _Too much trouble to clean_, Dad would always say. Sam shivered. _My blood. _"He's got his own way of dealing with the job, remember?" Sam added.

"He's in the parking lot," she returned, and there was a tiny rebuke in her voice – like Sam needed to have more faith in Dean. And then she nodded like nothing had been said. "The clothes are ready to go," Charlotte added, looking at him with her shy smile. She surprised him by sitting next to him on the bed. One hand came forward, trembling a little, to brush his forehead above his left eye. "I'm so sorry, Sam," she said simply, her face crumpling.

"Charlotte…" His voice trailed off, and he had to look away from her face. His family had always managed to get past the things they did to each other before, but stark apologies were so outside of the Winchester experience, Sam didn't even know how to respond. Sam swallowed, heat rising up to the top of his head. "It's okay," he managed.

"No, it's really not," she replied, shaking her head. "What if your eye doesn't heal properly?" Charlotte frowned. "You should really put some ice on it to reduce the swelling."

The eye wasn't important – it was punishment for what Sam had done. If anyone could understand that, it would be her. "What if Dean and I never really talk to each other again?" Sam returned. "Because of another goddamn spell." He shook his head. "You heard me talk about the shotgun, right? The one with rock salt?" And Charlotte was looking at him like he was the only person in the world. "How can you forgive a brother you'd die for when he says that he wished he had killed you?" Sam asked.

"The same way you forgive a bitchy know-it-all for telling you that you're an incompetent little boy," Charlotte replied, and she had tears standing in her eyes when she said it. "The Beata bleed, Sam. We're just people – maybe we're not like everyone else, but we aren't perfect, either."

"We're broken people," he muttered.

"Sometimes the only way to help someone heal is to know how they hurt." Charlotte took his hands into her own. "Knowing that doesn't mean you're not strong."

Sam snorted. "Hi pot, my name's kettle." And that earned him another one of her smiles.

"I'm serious. You…" Charlotte leaned towards him. "You defeated a demon while Shemhezai was trying to ascend. While you were _dying_." She squeezed his hands. "I've never seen _anyone _do the kinds of things you can do. The power might come from God, but you're the heart that directs it, Sam."

"See, this is why you scare the hell out of my older brother," Sam said mildly, but his throat had a little ache and his arms came around her waist. _You're the heart that directs it, Sam._ She jumped like she didn't quite expect it, but hugged him back.

"And that is why a dorky girl like me is lucky enough to have someone like you care about her," Charlotte replied. She stood, brushing his hair back from his forehead with another smile. "I'm glad you're my friend, Sam Winchester." And Charlotte kissed him on the forehead, looking just as surprised as he was when she pulled back.

Ellie stirred beside him, one arm touching him on the waist. "I'm going outside for a bit," Charlotte said; she touched the little girl's cheek, and then moved towards the closet – sliding her right foot into one of her slippers, turning back to smile at Sam while she opened the door. _Dean better have a clue about how goddamn lucky he is, or I'm kicking his ass._

"I'm glad that you're my friend, too, Charlotte Webb," Sam said – and he knew he was blushing furiously. Charlotte's eyes were shining back at him when the door closed.

Shemhezai didn't move, didn't make a sound – and Sam was grinning like a moron when he caught his reflection in the mirror across from the bed.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Dean was sitting on the trunk of his crap car, leaning against the back window with his hands in his pockets – staring up at the sky. Charlotte shivered; the breeze blowing through her hair. It was colder than she thought it would be, but the wind smelled clean. _Lots of stars out. _

"Look, Sam!" Dean was annoyed. "We don't always have to have these girly chats every time we get fucked up by a spell and start treating each other like assholes," he snapped, whipping his head around to look at her. "Oh," he added lamely when he recognized her. "Uh, hey…"

Charlotte had no idea where to start, placing her hands in front of her on the trunk as she pushed up onto the Impala's bumper with her right foot. _Crap!_ Her cast was heavy, pulling her left leg backwards as she tried to bring herself up onto the back of the car. Dean grabbed her right arm and dragged her forward. "Thanks," Charlotte said softly, settling next to him. "I'm a crap car klutz," she added, folding her arms around her stomach.

"Cute," Dean returned, hands back in his pockets. He sighed deeply as she rested her head on the window, not saying anything for what seemed like hours, but Dean kept looking at her. Agitated and hopeful, all at the same time – and when she finally got up the nerve to catch his eye, Dean's mouth twisted. "You know, that spell never really affected me," he said. "I've always been an asshole."

"And that renders _you_ completely immune to twenty-seven curses so deadly, their existence started a war," Charlotte retorted. "Behold, the power of the world's biggest prick." She softened her words with a smile.

Dean snorted; his face twitched as he tried to remain serious. "Charlie, why the hell are you acting like nothing happened? After those things I said about your dad?" He lowered his eyes. Dean felt raw inside, like so many wires getting ready to short out.

"I wouldn't have been able to do anything in that cave without you, Dean Winchester. You just kept giving me what I needed when it hurt _you_." Hazel eyes widened as though she slapped him. Charlotte felt her cheeks flushing all over again. "And I _did_ break a crutch pretending a wall was your face."

A sharp laugh erupted from his throat, but his shoulders slumped. "Doesn't change the fact that I'm an ass."

"We _all_ were." Charlotte shrugged her shoulders. "It was a spell, Dean. I know you boys think Winchesters shouldn't get caught in traps but we did. And _you_ were the first one to break it."

"I didn't do jack."

"Except love your brother so much you broke an Unforgiven Curse," she retorted. He started, and Charlotte turned to look at him. "I didn't even know something like that was possible. And it's not just the curse, either. Your Gift is awakening. You got knocked flat on your ass by your first vision, Dean, and you just picked yourself up off the ground to do your job."

"Remember that hole in your head the size of Texas?" Dean asked, a small smile flicking across his lips before his mouth twisted. "I'm a jerk."

"Remember those curtains, Dean?" Charlotte retorted softly. "You didn't just blow them open – you blew the curtains off the rod and halfway to Aruba." She lowered her eyes, staring at her cast; hair swinging down past her face. "The hex didn't change what you felt inside." He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, and she blushed even harder than before. "But you've got the people skills of a wooden plank," she added.

Dean chuckled. "I just don't get people."

"If it's any consolation, I have the people skills of a bush." Charlotte pulled her knees to her chest. "So we're pretty much stuck in this thing together."

Dean sighed. "You think we'll ever work our way up the food chain?"

"Food chain?" Charlotte could only stare at him. _What the hell does that mean?_

"You're the one who came up with the whole plant metaphor. I just made it kick ass by giving us a chance to become a shark or something." He grinned.

"A shark doesn't have the best people skills."

"Sure, bring in _logic_, Girl Genius." Dean poked her in the arm, his face completely unguarded – and then the mask came up when their eyes met. "I really suck at…" Dean swallowed. "Charlie," he said, his voice getting stronger. Charlotte felt a sharp stab through her chest. _Oh, Dean… _"Hit me, Charlie."

"_What?_"

Dean took a deep breath. "Hit me." And there was a challenge in his eyes.

"I'm not going to hit you, Dean."

"Well, then say something mean to me. Like I did to you." Dean's jaw hardened in anticipation. "About my mom. Do it, so we're even." And the stab flared into a burn, rumbling like a train through her chest – overflowing with the need to be punished. Charlotte gulped. _Love dares you to change our way of caring about ourselves._

He was looking at her with those same goddamned eyes she could never resist. _This is our last dance._ "OK," Charlotte said, taking a breath. She leaned in towards him, voice soft. "If you're worried that something is too broken to fix, it's _not_."

Dean swallowed. _This is our last dance._ "How do you know?" he asked, eyes beginning to shine. Dean Winchester was burning inside – and she burned with him. He was never going to be alone again, stuck in that nightmare. Neither was Sam. She wasn't much, but the Winchesters had her, too.

Charlotte smiled gently. _This is ourselves. _"I have to believe it's true. Otherwise, I'm going to be broken all of my life." It was hard to breathe – seeing that little boy in his eyes so close to the surface. "And I don't want that," Charlotte added.

Dean stared at her – his eyes bright, his right hand clenched stiffly between them. _Under pressure._ Charlotte could see the white skin stretched around his knuckles, her chest tight – and she did what she should have done the night before. She put her hand on top of his, splaying open his fingers with her own, and held on as tightly as she could. Dean shifted like he was going to pull away.

But he didn't. Dean just looked up at the sky.

"Were you shitting me when you said you didn't know anything about constellations?" Dean asked suddenly, looking right at her. Charlotte shook her head, and Dean pointed up to the stars with his free hand. "See, that up there is the Big Dipper. It's part of Ursa Major. It's a pretty good month to see it, actually." He grinned at her. "You do know what Ursa Major means, don't you?"

"I know where the Big Dipper is," Charlotte said, looking up at the stars, "And I even know how to _pronounce_ Ursa Major." She bit her lip. "That's the one with the North star, right?" Charlotte asked. Dean chuckled, and she scooted closer to see where he was pointing. _Please don't move away from me._ She twisted off the window, leaning on her side.

"I'm guessing Astronomy wasn't your best subject back in Special Operative school," Dean said, letting go of her hand and putting his arm across her shoulders. "The North Star is part of Ursa Minor. Can't see that too well until June, but there's part of it." He was pointing again, and Charlotte leaned against him to follow the stretch of his arm. "And that's Leo. Why the hell you can see Leo in April is anyone's guess." Dean's voice rumbled through her. "You getting all of this, Girl Genius?"

"Not the way you're telling it, Dean." Sam's voice was soft, and he stepped out of the shadows right next to them, Ellie walking beside him with her hand in his. The little girl smiled and waved at Charlotte; she waved back. "You suck when it comes to teaching constellations," Sam added.

"Taught _you_ well enough," Dean retorted. But she could feel the tightness in his chest, the anxiety flowing off of Sam. "Think you can take me, little brother?"

Sam snorted. "You're on if there's room up there for one more."

"I'd say 'no' but since it's your bony ass, I think we'll be okay," Dean drawled lazily. Sam clambered onto the back of the Impala, sliding as close to Charlotte as he could get before picking up Ellie. She gave a small squeal as she flew up into Sam's lap, followed up with a laugh. It was hard not to smile when Ellie laughed.

"This isn't going to work," Sam said suddenly. "Not enough room." Charlotte felt a hand on her back and Sam pushed her – right on top of his older brother. "That's better," the younger Winchester added smugly; Charlotte didn't need to look at him to see the expression on Sam's face. The way she was sprawled across Dean, she couldn't even see the stars.

_But I can count his freckles if I squint hard enough._

Charlotte shivered when she realized Dean's hands were on her hips – and when he grinned at her for that, she decided that stars were overrated.

"You know, Dad was the one who taught us constellations," Sam said. "Sometimes, when we were little kids, and he couldn't find anyone to take care of us when he was hunting, he'd stick the car in as safe a place as he could find. We'd stay on the back of the car – we had a game where we'd see who could name the most constellations before he came back."

"And I won _every_ time," Dean added. "Until Sam started _cheating_."

"You shouldn't _cheat_, Sam," Ellie said, and she sounded a little disappointed. Both Winchesters were laughing.

"I didn't cheat, Ellie," Sam returned. "I just made up my own constellations once we were finished with the ones Dad taught us. That one up there is called Sam's Sticky Pancakes. If you look real hard, you can even see the GI Joe I got for Christmas that year."

"You never did figure out how to use all the cool stuff that came with Mainframe," Dean said softly. "But my personal favorite was always Hot Chick on a Hot Rod."

"That one was lame," Sam shot back. "It didn't even _look_ like a car." Dean matched Sam's chuckle, and something inside of them cracked just enough when they both laughed again. "And _I'm_ hotter than the chick, Dean." He snorted. "What do you see up there, Ellie?" Sam asked.

"I see Cookie Monster," Ellie giggled. "Stop tickling me." Sam didn't. And Charlotte knew what he was doing – trying to buy her some time to talk to Dean.

She shifted, touching Dean's cheek and his hazel eyes focused on her face – close enough for Charlotte to see the question inside of them. _Can't we give ourselves one more chance?_ She swallowed. "See," Charlotte said, in a shaky little voice that she hoped Dean could hear because there was no way in hell she was going to have the guts to say it twice. "Doesn't even hurt," she added.

"Good to know," Dean returned, with a cocky grin, "Because it's going to suck out loud if you get a headache every time I do this." His hands moved up her back, past her shoulders. Hands tangled in her hair as he pulled her mouth down on top of his. And he kissed her, urgent and possessive – thrusting his tongue against hers like he had spent an entire lifetime learning how to kiss her. She felt a sharp catch in her throat as he pulled away from her, one quick gasp as she quivered.

"What _is_ it with you and the back of your crap car?" Charlotte asked.

"It's your goddamn pajamas," he replied, lips so close to her own she could feel his smile. Her body pressed against his, and one of his hands clutched the back of her pajama top – pulling her closer to him. "The stripes are so freaking hot," Dean added, brushing her lips with his.

Sam made a disgusted noise in his throat that made Dean cackle. Ellie threatened to make Dean pay another quarter but Dean wasn't having any of that – said life was easier without chicks in the car, and he poked Charlotte on the arm; Charlotte poked him right back, making him laugh harder – and Ellie started tickling him. Dean shrieked in outrage and sat up from the window to protect himself, Charlotte slipping between both Winchesters. Sam came to the rescue, pulling Ellie back onto his lap.

"The crap I put up with for this gig." Dean sighed deeply, making a show of it. "But the job's not without its perks." Dean snorted, and then valiantly regained his composure. "There's something I've wanted for a long time," he added, his voice suddenly husky, "And only _Charlie_ can give it to me." Dean traced the length of her left arm, stopping to touch the cuff of her sleeve.

"There's _no_ way I'm wearing duck pajamas, Dean."

"Stripes are hot, Charlie, but ducks are just fucking sexy."

Sam snorted, and Dean grinned at his little brother over Charlotte's head while he brought his arm back across her shoulders. She leaned against him, feeling Dean's chuckle rumble through her back; Ellie was naming other constellations after _Sesame Street_ characters while Sam helped her make the shapes in the sky. Somehow, they'd _all _been given one more chance. And she was never forgetting it.

"You're sitting there getting all emo, aren't you?" Dean's voice broke into her thoughts, his breath warm against the curve of her neck as he leaned down to ask the question.

Charlotte nodded. It wasn't that they were still alive; it was that she felt alive for the first time in her life. "Just thinking that this ended up being a good day," she said softly. And she couldn't think of a way to thank them; they hadn't just rescued her from the shadows. The Winchesters had shown her what she could become. _No, you little idiot. Brave._ She took a deep breath. "The best thing that ever happened to me was Sam shoving me into the back of your car," she added. No one had ever believed in her before.

"Right," Dean said, a lifetime of sarcasm encapsulated in one word. Thick embarrassment rushed through his entire body, matching the discomfort coming off of Sam. Neither of them were used to compliments. And that hurt; they lived as much in their own shadows as she did. "Looks like we're going to stop in Texas and find what's left of your brain," Dean added. But his other hand encircled her waist, and Dean was hugging her to him as tightly as Sam had up in the room.

Maybe one day, they would actually believe in themselves.

* * *

A/N:

There was, indeed, a reference to Lewis Carroll's _The Jabberwocky_. I also alluded to T.S. Eliot's _The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock_. Methinks I am reading too much poetry these days.

I introduced more Enochian lore into this chapter, specifically the Azeali Hexes – twenty seven "Unforgiven Curses" created by Azazeal himself before the first war between Nephilim and Grigori. In the Book of Enoch, Azazeal is cited as "creating" magic and introducing it to humanity. Given that, having the thing create curses which were so powerful even most demons wouldn't use them was something of a no-brainer.

"Convello" is translated as "I shatter." Yes, one day I may actually do something more complex when doing my own translations.

This chapter owes quite a debt to my lovely betas. Wenchpixie was particularly critical, introducing several of Charlie's funniest lines as part of our meta discussions on Chapters 9 – 11. The wooden plank observation and the curtains flying to Aruba are all hers. Likewise, Sam's Sticky Pancakes is based on her lovely Wee!Chesters fic, Pancakes and Pajamas. Me loves my good twin muchly.

The title is a song by Queen with David Bowie. (Although Sam, not exactly a music geek, mistakes it for David Bowie.) Other bands have remade the tune in recent years, but I listened to Freddie and David while writing this chapter.

As always, feedback is always welcome – and comments make me dizzier than chocolate.


	13. Up Around the Bend

This is set sometime after the end of Season 1. While it doesn't break canon to my knowledge, it is definitely AU. With Ellie and Charlotte in tow, the boys head back to Lawrence because Sam thinks Missouri might be able to help figure out what to do with a six-year-old psychic.

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Disclaimer: The Winchester boys aren't mine. The Colt isn't mine. Wish the car was mine. But I can only blame myself for the Circle of Enoch.

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Charlotte Webb, Ellie Jenkins, Missouri Mosely

Rating: M ( Dean likes to swear. There's some angst, some schmoop, and adult situations.)

Summary: Prophecies suck ass.

Feedback: Absolutely! Concrit is always welcome!

Miscellaneous: As always, this would not have been possible without the brilliance of JMM0001, who pointed out certain situations as out-of-sorts for the boys; I'm hoping I've rectified that. Much thanks to wenchpixie, who always consoles me during my daily revisions while attempting to break me of my compulsive editing habit; she went above and beyond on this one dealing with my embarrassment factor. Pheebs1 once again put herself into the hazardous line of duty for fangirls everywhere. All three acted as my betas for this chapter. The good parts are because of them. The bad parts are all me.

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**Chapter Twelve: Up Around the Bend**

If there was a bed bug out there biting some kid on the ass at night, Sammy had eight different theories and could pin down the exact make of the bug.

Dean blamed Dad and the games he was always coming up with while they were growing up – like the one where Dad would give them clues and they had to figure out what the hell was going on; sometimes, Dad made them up but usually he based them on his own jobs. Sam would come up with different scenarios and what he would do to fix each one of them. Dean used to watch his father's face, guarded but serious, as his younger brother rattled off each possible outcome in a sing-song voice – and Dad was always struggling to play it straight by the end because Sammy threw in stuff just to make their father laugh. It was a hell of a lot better than watching them fight.

Dean preferred the direct approach – figure out the problem, start with the simple solution first, don't waste time looking at the lala-land crap until you exhausted everything else. But Sam lived for the esoteric shit; when his younger brother came up with the solution to their current problem, Dean was amazed at its simplicity.

Sam wanted to go back to freaking Lawrence.

Back to see Missouri, anyway. It made sense. They hadn't heard from Missouri in months, but Dean guessed that she kept her fingers on the pulse of what was happening; she'd joke about not being able to pick things up over the phone, but there was something chasing Sam like thunder chased lightning – and it was powerful as all Hell. Dean wouldn't be surprised if _every_ two-bit psychic out there was picking up on something as they drove past, even if they didn't know what it was.

Sam had his theories, how it wasn't exactly coincidence that put Charlie and the blonde asshole in that college bar; and he was adamant that things had to happen in a certain way. Charlie had argued that nothing was foreordained, that people still had a choice. _You have the most important choice of all, Sam. _But her eyes flickered towards Dean when she said it, and her face crumpled like she had just thought of something she didn't want to admit to herself – and Dean thought part of her was right.

It didn't help Charlie's argument that she looked as surprised as Dean _felt_ every time they kissed; her fingers always brushing his right temple, biting her lip as she watched him – probably trying to figure out what a man like Dean Winchester was doing with her. Dean asked himself the same goddamn question, except he wanted to know why he wasn't trying to do anything else – he sure as hell _wanted_ to taste every part of her.

But Dean would bet the Impala on the fact that the Circle had had no clue what Charlotte Webb was going to do when she met the Winchesters – Dean wasn't about to forget Alex Masters' threat to kill her any time soon. Hell, she probably didn't even know what she was going to do – for all that Charlie talked about Washington D.C., she was taking her sweet time getting there. _The best thing that ever happened to me was Sam pushing me into the back of your car._ Sam would probably chalk her change of heart up to the second prophecy, the one discovered by Charlie's old teacher.

Prophecies sucked ass.

He glanced in the rear view mirror, caught a glimmer of sunlight against Charlie's hair as she bent over – reading one of the books they picked up at a used bookstore back in Nashville to Ellie. The little girl was curled up on Charlie's lap, cheek resting on the redhead's shoulder while she listened to Charlie's calm voice reading out loud. Charlie's face was serious; like she was working on her translations instead of reading _Winnie the Pooh_. Every couple minutes, she'd ask Ellie a question and wait for an answer, and the little girl would respond with a giggle and tug on Charlie's hair. Dean grinned.

He'd bet more than the car that the Circle of Enoch had no clue about Ellie Jenkins.

And the Winchesters were going to keep it that way – even if that meant going back to Lawrence. Dean swallowed. _Mom._ He hated fucking Lawrence. Sam was right and Missouri would help them; he wasn't sure _how_ but if anyone could deal with a psychic six-year-old, it was Missouri Mosely. Dean sighed; he needed to stop promising himself that he was never going back home, because the director of their little play kept pushing Dean right back onto the set of his own personal Hell.

The mile sign flashed by; they were thirteen miles outside of Lawrence city limits. _Fuck me. _Charlie touched the back of his neck. Dean looked at her in the rear view mirror, grimacing when their eyes met; she looked about as happy to be going to Lawrence as he did, when Sam was talking about how great an idea it was and how Missouri was going to help them.

"Won't be long now," Dean said softly. "Missouri's house is on the outskirts of town." Charlie raised his grimace with a scowl.

"Do you think she'll like me?" Ellie asked, her voice serious.

Dean flashed a grin in the little girl's direction. "I'll kick anyone's ass if they don't."

"Jesus, Dean!" Sam yelped. "Watch your mouth."

"It's OK, Sam. Dean and I made a deal about his bad words," Ellie said slowly. _Oh, God, I told her it was our little secret._

Sam groaned. "A deal?"

Dean nodded. "I slip the little squirt a Ding Dong every day, and we're square. I can use all the bad words I want." He winked at his little brother. "Besides, Geek Boy, how is Ellie going to learn _new_ bad words? The way I see it, I'm just teaching Ellie what _not_ to say."

Sam didn't say anything to that, just rolled his eyes when Charlie started laughing. Ellie kissed Sam on the cheek. "I'm a good girl. I won't use bad words. And if I don't know if a word is bad, I'll ask _you_." She smiled brightly. "But I love Ding Dongs," Ellie added. "And Dean's good about sharing, Sam. He gives the other one to Charlie!" _Crap!_ That was supposed to be their other little secret.

"You are all going to be the death of me," Sam said lightly. He raised an eyebrow. "You know Missouri's not going to let you feed Ellie Ding Dongs every day." And then the little bastard was grinning. "She might not even let you feed _Charlie_ Ding Dongs every day."

Dean just grinned back and continued on down the highway, turning off the exit that led to Missouri's neighborhood. He sighed – early spring in Lawrence brought with it flowers and new leaves on the trees and that reminded him about all the times he used to play with Dad in the backyard before Sammy was born. Dean never really had a chance to be a kid after the fire, but that wasn't going to happen to Ellie. _She_ was getting a chance. And if Missouri could help, coming back to Lawrence might even be worth it.

There wasn't a car in front of Missouri's house, which meant she didn't have a client. That would make the introductions easier, no outsider to explain things to if things went down the way that Dean suspected they might. A sharp stab of fear jabbed through his stomach; Dean guessed it was coming from Charlie.

He parked the Impala in front of Missouri's mailbox. Sam had his door open immediately, that goofy grin of his plastered on his face. The curtains in the living room swished closed, as though someone had been looking out the window and didn't want to be seen. _Like she was waiting for us._ Ellie was scampering out the back right after Sam, grabbing his hand as they walked up to the front steps.

Charlie opened her door slowly, taking a deep breath as she set her feet on the ground. "Don't worry, Girl Genius," Dean said softly, extending his hand to help her stand. "Missouri will like you, too." The moment their hands touched, he felt another stab in his stomach. He frowned.

"Did _you_ like me the first time we met?" Charlie asked.

"Sure did," Dean replied. "I wanted to push you into the back of that booth and have my way with you, but that's _your_ fault for using your freaking mojo." He kissed her lightly on the mouth, mostly because Charlie looked so shocked by his answer. "I did think you were a bitch later on," Dean added, pitching his voice low, "But that _might_ have been the succubus poison."

"Good to know." A small smile crossed Charlie's face.

Dean started walking around the car, his arm jerking back as he moved away from her; Charlie was holding onto his hand as tightly as she had three nights ago on the back of the car. _Oh, fuck me. I'm holding hands with a chick!_ But he didn't let go. Dean shrugged – he'd blame her for it, anyway, if Sam decided to be a jerk about it. "Still doesn't mean that I'm not paying you back for the crack you made about my baby, Charlie."

"Which one?" Charlie returned. That damn mischievous look was slapped right on her face.

"That'd be too easy." Dean waggled his eyebrows at her as they followed Sam and Ellie up the walk. "It's more fun watching your brain work while you try to figure it out." He leaned down and whispered in her ear. "Smart girls are sexy." Charlie blushed, and he gave a low chuckle. "And when you do _that_, I just want to throw you in the back seat and – " Her elbow poked his stomach as Sam rang the doorbell.

The front door opened, and Missouri's face peered out from behind the screen door. "That you, Sam Winchester?" she asked suspiciously, slowly pushing out the screen door. Dark eyes looked Sam up and down before flickering on the rest of them. "Or the demon in your belly?"

"It's me." Sam's voice was soft, and his entire body shivered. _Not the reunion you were expecting, little brother? _And that wasn't even the obvious question. The obvious question was how in the hell did some small-time psychic in Lawrence know about Shemhezai.

"Just asking," Missouri returned laconically. "Given the company you boys been keeping since you left." Her eyes focused on Charlie; the redhead looked stunned but then squared her shoulders – holding Dean's hand so tightly, Charlie was cutting off his circulation. "You do know there's a right side and a wrong side to this thing?" Missouri added. "And that you have to be careful who you trust?"

"Jacob sent me to Sam Winchester with all of his research notes and a copy of every archive relevant to the text," Charlie said gently. "And if Richard Masters finds _that_ out, Eugenia, Jacob will die." _Eugenia? _Charlie lowered her eyes, and she added, "He was my only friend when I was growing up in that house."

The psychic started, a strange expression on her face. "You've got a little fire in you, girl," Missouri said. Dean grinned. "Don't even finish whatever it is you're thinking, Dean Winchester," the psychic snapped, eyes glaring at him.

"Eugenia?" Dean managed, his mouth twitching. There were more important questions to ask, could see them working on Sam's face – all the different scenarios that his little brother could come up with in his head just by reading the right words in the right newspaper article. This wasn't a time for odds; Dean's gut told him that Missouri Mosely – or whatever the hell they were supposed to call her now – was just as big a part of this thing as anyone.

Missouri looked like she was getting ready to launch herself past the screen door at him, but her hard eyes focused on the hand that was holding Charlie's and softened; Charlie's knuckles were white, skin tight across the joints. "I'm the same Missouri," she said softly. "Eugenia died the night we broke the Circle." Another perplexed glance in Charlie's direction, before her eyes focused on Ellie standing with one hand in Sam's and the other snaking around Charlie's waist. "I was just getting ready to make some dinner, and I'm not one to turn family away from my doorstep – even if we have some hard things to talk about," the psychic added.

"Family?" The look in Sam's eyes when he asked the question made Dean's throat ache, and his little brother's voice cracked.

Missouri nodded, and she swept Sam up in a hug. "I'm glad to see you, Sam Winchester," she added, dark eyes shining with unshed tears. "So glad that you're both here safe. Your daddy was worried sick."

"Not worried enough to call _us_," Sam said, his voice short – but his hold on the psychic tightened.

"Maybe he was worried about me," Charlie said. Dean looked at her, and he wished like hell he could tell her that she was wrong. "I wouldn't blame him for that," she added, "Knowing how I was raised." Her gray eyes watched Missouri's body jerk at the admission, so full they were going to burst.

"We can talk about that later," Missouri said with a quick cough. "Right now, you all need to eat something besides Ding Dongs." And she looked right at Dean when she said it. She reached out to touch Ellie on the side of the head. "We'll talk during dinner, and then you boys can get your things and bring them in the house. It's not a motel like where you're used to staying, but its yours for as long as you need…" Her voice trailed off, and she pulled Sam with her through the front door. Ellie was right on their heels.

Dean watched the screen door slam shut behind them.

"She's scared of me, Dean," Charlie said, looking him right in the face. "I knew it wasn't going to be easy. I have a lot to answer for…" She swallowed, letting go of his hand. "Jacob told me it was going to be hard." Charlie leaned against the side of the house, hair stark against the chipped white paint. "But I thought she'd be angry at me for what my mom did or upset because I was raised by _them_. And I was ready for that." Charlie's arms held her stomach. "People shouldn't be scared of _me_."

Dean could have told her something – that it wasn't her choice who raised her, that she suffered just as much as anyone did because of her mother and she had the scars to prove it – but he didn't; just placed both hands on the wall behind her, braced on either side of her head, and leaned down to kiss her. It was salty at first, and his mouth closed over a ragged breath – but then Charlie's fingers wound through his hair and he pulled her towards him.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Sam watched Missouri's hands as she deftly kneaded pie crust dough on her red-speckled countertop. She caught his blue-green stare with her dark-eyed one and gestured with one flour-covered hand. "You can't chop celery while you're sitting there staring at me, Sam."

"Guess not," he replied lazily. Ellie was sitting at the kitchen table, coloring in an old book with some crayons Missouri said she kept for her clients' children. "Cooking was always Dean's thing."

"Looks like Dean's busy with his _other_ thing," Missouri said lightly. She sighed, pulled out a rolling pin from the drawer. She cocked her head, staring right at Sam. "You know what's going on, don't you, Sam?"

"I do." His voice was stronger than he felt inside. Shemhezai screamed every time Missouri opened her mouth. _Old power_, it whispered, _and she knows how to use it._ Nothing angered Shemhezai like one of the Blessed Children, the ones who believed it was their duty to die in defiance of him. It had the same reaction whenever Aaron showed up – even in dreams, where Aaron could do nothing but watch.

"I don't think you do." Missouri frowned, and then turned to begin rolling out the dough. "Sam, that girl traveling with you. She's part of the Circle of Enoch. You know what that is?"

Sam nodded. "I know what the Circle was – and about how the children who would become the Twelve were hidden to keep them from fulfilling the prophecy where _I_ destroy the world." He began chopping celery again, listening to the rhythmic shock of the knife against the cutting board. "And I know the Council serves the Grigori."

Missouri snorted. "You think that girl's going to tell you everything, Sam? Her mother was one of my best friends once, and she looks just like her. Blood rings true." There was a catch in Missouri's throat, and her shoulders were shaking when Sam looked at her. "You know _what_ burned your mother, boy?"

"_They_ say the same thing about her father's blood," Sam replied softly. He could feel the shimmer along his cheekbone, didn't even have to look at his hand to see the blue sigils flicker and fade, but Missouri's eyes widened all the same when she stared at him. "And we know about _Azazeal_."

"You want me to feel sorry for the daughter of the woman who killed my family, Sam Winchester?" Missouri's voice was tart, and she glared at him – rolling pin raised in one hand. But her eyes looked uncertain.

"No," Sam returned, and he could feel the rumble in his voice – another flicker across his cheekbone as the Ziv Zakai murmured in his veins. "This was never about anyone but me, Missouri. _I'm_ what you should be afraid of. Some days, it's all I can do to keep Shemhezai inside." And then the power left him, just like it always did, and he was just Sam Winchester – ex-law school student with an ache in his throat and a demon slithering inside his ribcage. "I'm barely hanging on, Missouri. "

"Which is another reason you and your brother need to keep an eye on that girl," Missouri said softly, but her voice had no strength behind it. "No one stays in the Circle now and remains untainted. You can't trust any of them."

"Unless they weren't part of it in the first place," Sam said, his voice raw. He had to set down the knife; his hand was shaking too hard to cut anymore. "Like your brother."

"Jacob stayed behind for the kids we couldn't save. Just in case…"

"So if you don't trust her, trust him." Sam swallowed. "Jacob's the one who raised her." He smiled suddenly. "And you should listen to Charlotte talk about him. She's got all these funny little stories about growing up with him."

A smile flickered across Missouri's face. "Real shame you didn't get a chance to finish up that law degree, Sam."

He chuckled. "I just think you're focusing on something that isn't the problem." Sam began cutting the celery again, trying to block out the rattle against his rib cage as he took another breath. "I'm the one with a demon inside of him, and I'm the one the Circle wants. I don't just get visions about helping people, Missouri. I get visions about _hurting_ them – because that's what the thing inside needs me to do to help it Ascend. Hurting _Dean_. _Raping_ Charlotte – along with other girls I've never met." His throat hurt again. "Even Ellie…."

"Just because you see something, that doesn't make it true."

"I know that!" His voice sounded harsh, even to his own ears. "But that doesn't stop the nightmares I have about the world that's coming, things I can't even put into words." But the momentary vision that flashed into his head caused the knife to jerk, and the sharp metal slashed into his index finger. Shemhezai laughed. "Son of a – " It wasn't a deep wound, but it was going to hurt like hell.

"Sam…" Missouri pulled his hand underneath the faucet, turned on water and then held the cut down with pressure – wrapping a paper towel around it while she rummaged in the drawer for a band-aid.

"And the thing _talks_ to me, Missouri. All the time. Sometimes in its own language, and sometimes so that I can understand what's coming – as if the visions and the nightmares aren't bad enough, I get it described in minute detail from something crawling through my bones. I've even got dead men coming to visit me in motel rooms!"

"The _Guardians_ are visiting you?" The band-aid fluttered to the floor.

"Aaron never called himself a Guardian," Sam returned slowly, bending to pick up the band-aid. His finger throbbed. "And he's the only one that's shown up so far, but he's got me doing exercises."

"And Blessed Children, those who fight in Death, will cross the veil and teach the Liberator," the psychic returned softly, dark eyes burning as her throat worked. Missouri placed one hand on his arm. "I'd always hoped that it wasn't you, especially seeing the man you grew up to be. A good man. Your momma would be so proud of you, Sam." She swallowed. "But what's coming could break you all the same."

"The only reason I'm not broken, Missouri, is because I have people who care about me. Dean would still die for me and that's – " Sam felt the burning in his eyes as they filled with tears he damn well wasn't going to shed in front of anyone, even Missouri. "That's something I don't deserve. I don't deserve _any _of them."

Sam felt a little sick when Missouri turned away from his gaze, and started rolling out her dough. He put the band-aid on his finger, and continued chopping celery in silence.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Dinner was two of Missouri's world-famous chicken pot pies, a salad and chocolate cake for dessert; and it was the best food Dean had eaten in months. The psychic listened patiently while he and Sam talked about what happened since the Circle set its trap in Wisconsin, their explanation undercut by moments where all they could do was greedily shovel food into their mouths because it tasted too damn good not to be swallowing; Sam was using some hard biscuits Missouri placed on the table to sop up the savory gravy. Ellie asked for seconds, and even Charlie ate the second piece Missouri put on her plate.

But Charlie only talked when Missouri was directly asking her a question – and Missouri didn't hold back, like she was deliberately trying to trip Charlie up in a lie. At one point, Missouri gave a snort of annoyance before shooting Sam a look and asked a question about Jacob; Charlie started telling a cute little story about cleaning out a library while reciting something called the Hundred Duties. Dean almost up-ended his chair and dragged Charlie out onto the front porch when she pulled out that shy smile of hers, but Missouri smiled back and Dean didn't want to jinx it.

Besides, there was chocolate cake.

"Did you boys even suspect that your daddy was doing something besides hunting?" Missouri asked slowly, handed Sam a plate with a thick slice of cake on it.

"Not a clue," Sam said. "Dad plays his cards pretty close to the chest."

"To protect us," Dean pointed out, handing the plate Missouri gave him to Ellie.

"Not denying that, Dean. Knowing what we know now, I don't even blame him for not telling us the truth."

"Your daddy wasn't just hunting the thing that killed your mother," Missouri said. Her eyes widened when Dean handed his second plate to Charlie. He grinned at her. _Got manners when I need them._ She grinned back, shook her head and continued, "He's been building an army. Waiting for the day that the Circle makes it move against Sam. Waiting for the foretold signs." Her gaze focused on Charlie. "That's where you come in, girl."

"He needs my translation." Charlie said it simply.

Missouri nodded. "John's got a network running across the entire continent – wouldn't be surprised if he's got contacts overseas by now. And there's a safe house. In Nebraska. Built on hallowed ground so the things the Circle might consider sending against you kids can't even touch you, and enough trained Hunters in the area at any given time to protect you against anything that _can_ cross the barriers. But none of that means anything without the prophecy."

"So John Winchester wants me to go to his safe house and translate the prophecy for him." Charlie frowned, glancing at Dean.

"It would keep you safe," Sam said, an earnest expression on his face. "You don't Hunt, and Ellie could stay with you. Neither of you would have to be alone." His voice sounded strange to Dean, but there wasn't an orange flicker inside Sam's eyes when Dean looked at his younger brother. "It's the best for all of us," Sam added.

"Do you even _remember_ what happened the last time I thought about leaving, Sam?" The redhead's voice was soft.

Sam turned his eyes towards his plate, couldn't even look her in the eye. "You said you were leaving as soon as we found Ellie," his little brother returned.

Dean rolled his eyes. "We _all _said a lot of things we didn't mean, dude."

"I still think she'd be safer there," Sam said stubbornly. "Broken bones heal."

"So that's _your_ decision?" Charlie asked, but both Sam and Missouri exchanged another glance and it was like Charlie hadn't asked a goddamn thing.

"I'll call in the morning and have them send some boys out to pick you girls up." Missouri pursed her lips critically while she looked at Charlie. "It's the right decision, honey. You're hurt right now, and you're the only one who can do what Jacob sent you here to do. You can't help my boys the way they need to be helped on the road."

"That's probably true," Charlie returned softly, her cheeks red. She focused on Dean, and it looked like she was going to ask him something before shaking her head sharply. She took another ragged breath, and then looked back at Missouri. "If you don't mind, I think I'd like to do some translating work tonight before I go to bed – unless you'd like some help with the dishes."

"Sam and Ellie can help me with that," Missouri replied, smiling gently. Dark eyes turned towards Dean. "You can bring Charlotte's things to the attic room." And she turned her smile back to Charlie. "The room's nice, honey. It's got a big bed and its own bathroom. You'll like it up there."

"Thank you," Charlie said. "If you'll excuse me…" But she didn't even wait for Missouri to say something else – the redhead pushed back from the table as quick as a shot, and ran up the stairs.

Dean thought about following her, but he sucked at touchy feely crap; he'd only piss her off, anyway. He took his time getting her things out of the Impala, glaring once at Sam and Missouri laughing in the kitchen while the psychic handed Sam dishes to dry on Dean's way up the stairs.

Charlie didn't answer his knock. Dean tried the doorknob, but it was locked – so he left her duffel bag outside the door and went back downstairs. He heard a new voice in the kitchen – low and masculine, with a country accent – as he stepped off the staircase; some guy in a Sex Pistols t-shirt was giving Missouri a piece of his mind, and Dean stepped in to listen even though Sam's eyes widened and his little brother inclined his head like Dean should leave.

Dean Winchester had no problem standing in line, so long as he could tell Missouri Mosely that Charlie wasn't her problem. Sam wasn't getting off easy, either.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

"I don't know which one of you is the bigger brain trust," a sarcastic voice snapped behind Sam's left shoulder. _Fuck._ He turned to see Aaron standing right beside Missouri, brown eyes flashing just like his daughter's eyes did when she got angry. "Deciding to send the one girl who can translate the prophecy to Nebraska," Aaron added derisively.

"Last time I checked, Aaron, you weren't in charge anymore," Missouri replied, putting her hands on her hips. "John stepped in and picked up the pieces so we didn't lose what you started. He'd want her there."

"If I thought for one second that JD came up with that half-assed plan, I'd find someone to raise me from the dead and kick his ass myself," Aaron retorted. "He might want her there, but you're using his authority to push his kids around. Playing on Sam's fears. Not letting them make their own decisions."

"Lectures about manipulation coming from you?" Missouri shook her head. "You're just lucky I can't exorcise a Guardian!" It sounded like an old argument.

Sam sucked in a breath. _Holy shit! _Hard footsteps filtered into the room from the hallway, and Dean's hazel eyes peered into the kitchen – hands jammed in his jean pockets and a pissed-off expression on his face. Sam caught his eyes and tried warning Dean to stay out.

Dean ignored him and sauntered into the room. "Don't know who the hell you are, dude, but I'm here to back you up." He flashed his cockiest grin towards Missouri. "Charlie's not even trying to yell at me, and _that_ pisses me off."

"The name's Aaron," the ghost replied. "You must be Dean Winchester."

_That_ got his older brother's spider senses tingling. Dean's entire stance shifted to the balls of his feet, and he was ready to spring if Aaron made a move. "Not too keen on strangers knowing my name, Punk Rock Boy." Hazel eyes narrowed. "Wait a minute. _You're _Ellie's Uncle Aaron?"

"Guilty as charged," Aaron said, with that same shit-eating smile he used on Sam the first time they'd met. "I've been teaching Sam for weeks now, and someone had to keep an eye on Ellie after you three kids almost blew it by getting cursed." If it was possible, his smile got even wider. "Besides, I know the name of every hotshot that screws my little girl in the backseat of his Chevy Impala."

"Little girl?" Dean's jaw dropped. One hand reached out to steady himself on the counter, and he almost looked like he was going to puke, all color drained from his face, but then Dean shook his head – glaring at Aaron with eyes almost as hard as Missouri Mosely's. "Do you know that girl's putting herself in harm's way just to make you proud of her? Least you could do is see her."

"Guardians make a pact to receive their powers, and part of that is leaving their loved ones behind; otherwise, you'd be tempted to use those powers to protect family, instead of the innocents who need it," Missouri explained tiredly, like they should already know what she was saying. "Your momma broke it herself last year back at the old house." Dean remembered that moment as well as Sam did, burned into his brain like a photograph, and its memory loosened the tightness in Dean's shoulders.

"So you remember what I told you, Sam?" Aaron ignored the question flickering on Dean's face. "The minute you left that motel room, you'd be opening up the door to the prophecy. That the Twelve would start coming to you?"

"Of course I remember," Sam retorted slowly, hands clenched into fists as he kept his voice calm. Dean shot him an angry look, and Sam knew he had another fight coming after this one. "But I'm going to hurt them, Aaron. If that place in Nebraska is safe, they should _all_ wait there."

"I know what's inside you is screaming to get out, Sam, but this was never about safe. Even Ellie will have to fight in the end, much as we'd all rather she didn't." Aaron swallowed, and Dean looked as sick as Sam felt inside. "But Charlie's been with you since this thing started. Ever wonder why that was?" He rolled his brown eyes. "I came out and told you she was a Mystic. Did you try to find out what that means?"

"Mystic?" Dean demanded. Missouri recoiled at the question, looking like you could push her over by breathing too hard.

"Prophecies hide their meaning behind riddles and symbols, but Mystics are attuned to recognize their signs. Charlie can help Sam understand his tasks when the words don't make sense," Aaron replied. _Sure, he'll answer the question for goddamn Dean…_ "It's why Jacob couldn't translate the prophecy without her," the ghost added. "And it's a crappy ass reward to exile her after she fought at your side."

"Don't you see the boy is trying to _protect_ her," Missouri interjected hotly. "And it's not like the girl can't use a cell phone or send Sam an e-mail once she figures something out. John needs to know what's going on as much as Sam does."

Aaron held up both hands. "Can't argue with that, I guess, but it's just as easy to call John with a message." The ghost sighed. "Believe it or not, I actually stopped by to talk about what happened in that cave before I overheard your charming dinner conversation. I'm real proud of the work you all did. All four of you. That power you called – it's why you have to find the others, Sam. It's why you can't be afraid of interacting with them."

And suddenly Aaron's expression wasn't angry, and his eyes began to glow with a soft blue shimmer. "The Twelve don't just serve Shemhezai, Sam. Two sides, remember? If the children don't turn, that power is used to protect you. Protect the world. You had to see it for yourself to know what's at stake. It's why we couldn't help you with the _Cordi Peredo_." He leaned forwards, a conspiratorial look on his face. "If you get to the others first, Sam, we might actually have a chance in Hell to _win_ this thing."

Sam felt hope stir within him. "And we can keep people from dying."

"Much as I'd love to make that promise, Sam, you know I can't. People die in a war, and that's what's coming," Aaron replied, but he didn't look right at Dean. Sam took that as a good sign – or, at least Aaron's attempt to make amends after ripping him a new one in front of his older brother. "But their deaths will mean something if you can find those kids before the Circle does."

Sam expected Aaron to leave like he always did after saying something cryptic, but the ghost turned to Dean. "You tell my little girl that she was never her mother's daughter. You tell Charlie that she's all mine."

Sam expected Dean to say something snarky about that because the whole thing had chick flick written all over it but Dean nodded like the order was coming from Dad – and that's when Aaron pulled his disappearing act. Missouri was staring at the wall like someone had smacked her in the back of the head. There was no way Dean was going to make Charlie stay in Nebraska if she didn't want to leave them – Sam could see it on his face. And Missouri wasn't going to argue if that was Charlie's decision.

That didn't keep Dean and Missouri from glaring at each other before his older brother left the room, hands back in his jean pockets. Sam thought he should follow, maybe explain why he didn't tell Dean about Aaron, but Sam knew he didn't want to answer the questions floating across his older brother's face. Dean whistled a song that Sam recognized as he walked away, but Sam couldn't remember the words.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Sam sat with Dean on the stairs leading up to the attic room. Dean had tried for an hour to get Charlie to answer the door, but the girl kept it locked and wasn't talking. It was almost midnight, and their patience had been rewarded by the sounds of water running – followed almost immediately by an off-key warble.

"Ready?" Dean asked.

Sam looked dubious. "I'm not so sure this is a good idea."

"You owe me, Sammy." It was true; Dean hadn't jumped down Sam's back when he finally cornered him to explain about Aaron Webb. Dean guessed Sam didn't want to hurt Charlie, but she probably already knew what a Guardian was – would accept it because that's how the Beata thing worked. Sam even agreed to let Charlie decide whether or not she should go. "Just unlock the door, and I'll do the rest," Dean added.

"What makes you think she's going to be so hot to talk to after you waltz in there without a shirt on?" Sam retorted, but his hand was on the doorknob. He closed his eyes, taking a breath, and they both heard a click as the locking mechanism disengaged.

"I've got a plan, Sam," Dean returned.

Sam snorted. "See you downstairs in about ten minutes," his younger brother said, picking his way past Dean down the stairs.

Dean smiled, opening the door into the room slowly and locking it behind him again – it wouldn't keep out Psychic Car Thief Boy, but at least it would slow him down long enough to get a clue. Because Dean _did_ have a plan, and it didn't matter whether or not he was wearing a shirt. He was just going to try and talk to a girl. He did that _all_ the time.

After a couple of tequila shots.

He tiptoed across the floor and sat down on the bed. Missouri hadn't been lying; he'd know a queen-sized bed anywhere. There was even a desk in the room, and Charlie's laptop was open on top of it – along with a bunch of her more mystical research books if the symbols on the spines meant something. _Good thing she never showed those to Sammy. _Her glasses were on top of one of the books, and it looked like she was planning a long night.

It took Charlie longer than he thought it should to finish doing whatever she was doing in the bathroom. Dean made himself stay on the bed, back straight against the headboard, because otherwise he'd be kissing her the moment she opened the door. So he forced himself to listen to her singing that goddamn Yoko Ono crap, and wondered why in the hell anyone would want to sing something about getting biblical with a chicken.

_God, I need some fucking tequila._

The bathroom door opened and Charlie walked out, drying her hair with a towel. A strangled noise escaped his throat – she was wearing a pair of boxer shorts and a stretchy tank top. His eyes narrowed. Unless he was imagining things, that tank top had the little green smartass _duck_ on it from an old cartoon Sam used to watch. _A fucking duck! And Sam owes me ten bucks. I **knew** she didn't wear goddamn granny panties._

Charlie let out a little shriek and dropped the towel.

"There's a duck on your chest," Dean managed. _Fuck me…_

"What the _hell_ are you doing?" Charlie's cheeks were flushed, and she crossed her arms right underneath her breasts. Dean hoped she had no idea what _that _was doing to him because that top didn't leave much to the imagination, and the way her hips curved underneath those boxer shorts was proof that she should have ditched granny sweaters a long time ago. "Is there a specific reason you broke into my room, Dean? Or did you just come to ogle me?" she added.

"I'm here to ask you a question," he returned immediately. "But when I'm done, I'm going back to ogling you."

Charlie just looked at him funny, and her jaw clenched – like it took every ounce of willpower just to climb onto the bed and sit next to him. Gray eyes focused on his face and she frowned. "I should have answered the door earlier but I was in a bad mood." She brushed his right arm with her left, her voice soft.

"I grew up with Sam. I think I can handle some emo chick." Dean grinned, watching a drop of water slide down her cleavage. He swallowed suddenly. "So, uh, this Nebraska thing?" _Smooth, Winchester…_

"I'm not even sure we should leave Ellie in Nebraska, Dean." Charlie's voice was fierce, protective, and she trembled a little. "But Jacob did send me to help Sam, and I've got a plan." She swallowed, and words started tumbling out in a rush. "I _don't_ need to leave. I can get an inverter and work in the car but that means Sam won't be able to hook up his iPod when he's driving. I spent the last three hours building a resource index, and I can use that to pinpoint what I need to have with me _in_ the car, and…" Charlie raised her chin as she took a breath. If it was possible, she was talking even faster. "When my cast comes off, I want you and Sam to teach me how to defend myself. That way, I can work in the motel room while you guys are on a job. And I can still help Sam with his meditation exercises if I stay. Maybe even help you with your Gift if you want to learn. Unless – " A shadow crossed her face. "You want me to leave?"

"Hell, no!" He answered before he could stop himself. _**That** didn't make me sound like a freaking dork…_ Dean Winchester didn't need anything but his weapons, his car and his little brother; why the hell did it matter whether a scrawny redhead left the band?

"Good, because the next part of my plan involved a Vespa scooter."

"Your plans really suck." Dean snorted when she grinned back at him. "You thought you could chase the Impala riding a scooter named after a princess from Planet _Druidia_?"

"Actually, she was named _after_ the scooter."

"Nothing gets past you, Girl Genius." Dean shook his head. "But last time I checked, your scrawny ass still fit in my car." He leaned towards her, pitching his voice low. "You think I'm letting you loose on a _scooter_?"

"Then I guess you're stuck with me," Charlie returned with a small laugh, leaning her head on his shoulder. Damp hair brushed against his skin, a shiver through her back as she settled against him. "I even called Jimmy when we were in St. Louis and told him I wasn't coming back to Georgetown."

"Boyfriend?" Dean had to ask the question.

"Best friend," she answered, but Charlie flinched. "I took a sabbatical from my doctorate program when my mother went into hospice care. I always planned on going back after she died but the Council had other plans for me." She slipped one arm through the crook of his right elbow. "That dream was all I had for a long time."

"When I was a kid, I wanted to be a fireman." He waited for her laugh – even Cassie had thought that was funny.

Charlie twisted to look up at him. "I think you would have been a good fireman." She was smiling, but her eyes were shiny – that demon stole more than just dreams when it killed their parents.

"I'm pretty good at mouth to mouth," Dean murmured, bringing his lips down on hers. She looked surprised but then she opened her mouth to his, and he brushed one hand across the length of her jaw; down to the base of her neck, right where it met her shoulder. Charlie kissed him until the ache in his throat faded, and his breath exhaled with a quick catch.

She moved to straddle him across his thighs, planting small kisses on his neck as she balanced herself. Her lips left little burns that flickered on his pulse, her cool fingers brushed against the succubus scars on his chest, and her body bent backwards like a bow when his nails lightly grazed down her back. Rain splattered against the rooftop, a staccato counterpoint to the heartbeat fluttering against his hands when he reached underneath her tank top. A gasp and a twist when she realized what he was doing.

"Dean – " Fear so thick it lay between them like a blanket.

"You listen to me, Charlie." Dean grabbed one of her hands, brought it down to his left hip – where a hellhound had locked its jaws and shook Dean around like he was the ball, and it was playing fetch. The scars were jagged and angry, raised white against his hip. "I got this saving a family up in Oregon about four years ago from a pack of demonic dogs. It's not the first scar I ever got, and it won't be the last. We fight things that hurt, that can kill. To save people." He put her hand on her abdomen. "The way I see it, you got your scars the same way. Saving your dad."

She made a broken sound in her throat, looking down at their hands resting on her stomach, and suddenly Charlie was ripping off her shirt – red hair falling around her shoulders, eyes stormy with a challenge. There was no way in hell Charlie was ever going to be made to feel ugly again because some nasty fucker scarred her. Dean's only response was to curl his fingers into the waistband of her boxer shorts, and her eyes softened when he started tugging them past her hips. She moved so he could slip them off. Red hair glancing across his abdomen as she leaned down to kiss him, and she slid off his own boxers while his fingers followed a pale shiny scar between her legs.

Charlie gasped, skin flushing as he glided his fingers against her. A low moan escaped her throat, and she moved his arm away; crawling up and straddling him. She was biting her lip, and Dean didn't realize he was holding his breath until he exhaled, deep and warm and wet within her. Needing to touch all of her, with fingers whispering against the curves of her hips. His mouth murmuring promises to breasts, round and full, while he touched freckles on her arms and the swell of her abdomen pressed against him.

He groaned when Charlie started moving her hips. Dean watched the slow pulling apart and pushing in as their bodies met, his hands braced on her arms. She whimpered, their bodies straining. He listened as Charlie breathed his name, over and over; dancing against him like a dare. And there was a question in the way she looked at him, her eyes luminous as they moved together. His answer was a low growl, the counterpoint to her short, sharp cry.

She had left the window open, and Dean heard the curtains rustle as a gust of rain-swept air filled the room, cool against their sweat-covered bodies – nothing but goose bumps and the small sheen of sweat between them. Their breath kept time with the raindrops on the roof and Charlie's arms, flung around his neck, tightened while his hands traced the muscles on her back. Small aftershocks still rippled through her, another sharp breath when he felt that hot flush in his own belly. When he felt _her_.

Dean dared kissing her shoulder, swallowed as he found his voice. "Only fair to warn you I'm not leaving tonight," he whispered into her hair, feeling her shiver as his breath touched her skin. A deep quiver as he stirred within her. Dean wouldn't have told her more but it didn't matter anyway; Charlie was already kissing him like she was drowning, and he was all the air she needed. And that suited him just fine.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Ellie was helping Missouri make French toast when Dean stumbled into the kitchen, Charlie following him into the room; the redhead had thrown on her red-striped pajamas before leaving the attic, but Dean was just wearing his boxer shorts. Sammy smiled at them as he placed a platter of sizzling sausage on the table, his blue-green eyes stopping on Charlie's face. She returned his smile like dinner the night before had never happened.

"I'm sorry I didn't get up in time to help make breakfast," Charlie said, sliding into a chair right next to the sausage platter. She stretched her arms as she sat down, yawning a little.

Sam snorted. "I bet _Dean_ was up."

Dean was getting ready to smack Sam across the back of his shaggy head – even if it was true, and Charlie was definitely awake when Sam knocked on the door and said breakfast was almost ready – but Missouri's voice rang through the kitchen. "Samuel Davis Winchester! There's a _child_ standing right next to you!"

"Sorry," Sam mumbled.

Dean sat down across from Charlie, shooting at smirk at Sam. _Serves you right, little brother. _Missouri handed the redhead a platter of French toast as Ellie crawled into the chair right next to Charlie. "Dean and I can do dishes," Charlie said, smiling at Missouri.

"What?" Dean yelped. It was Sam's turn to smirk at him. "Oh, _man_…"

The psychic chuckled. "I'll hold you to that, girl." Missouri looked at Dean suddenly with a serious expression on her face. "Have you all figured out what you're going to do next?"

"Sammy and I decided last night that it's Charlie's choice whether or not she stays," Dean returned, spearing a piece of sausage off of the platter. "And that we're going to check out this safe house before we decide if Ellie should stay there."

"And I'm not leaving," Charlie added. All of the tension in Sam's shoulders released when she said it.

"I promised myself I'd abide by your decision." Missouri's eyesclouded over. "But are you sure about this, Charlotte? Those boys get into some pretty rough spots." She glanced at the little girl pouring syrup all over her French toast. "And Ellie will miss all three of you. Might be easier on her if someone's there."

"I'll be okay," Ellie smiled. "Charlie has to go with them and Uncle Aaron says he'll visit me every day." Dean suspected the little girl got most of her information from Uncle Aaron. _Unless she's getting visions…_ And that thought made him a little sick to his stomach, so he took a sip of his orange juice to calm himself down.

"It'd be simpler if Charlotte stayed with her." But Missouri looked uncertain.

"I belong with Dean," Charlie said. Sam just stared at her, but Dean almost dropped his glass of orange juice. She returned the psychic's look. "I made a promise. Ellie knows we won't let her be lonely." Ellie nodded vehemently, and Charlie continued, "I'm going to make sure that she has a way to keep in touch with us every day. Do they have a computer at this safe house?"

Missouri chuckled. "Of a sort."

"Then we'll just buy her one of her own," Charlie returned with a small frown. "We need to go to an electronics store anyway for supplies."

"Supplies?" Sam was grinning. Geek Boy loved his gadgets. "That sounds to me like you're dangerously close to coming up with a _plan_."

"She's _executing_ the plan." Dean snorted. "Just be thankful she's not buying a Vespa, dude."

"The world is doomed if we let her ride around on a scooter," his little brother intoned.

"The way I see it, Sammy, it's our responsibility to keep Charlie off the road." Dean grinned. "But you're going to have to sacrifice your iPod for awhile."

"It's for the safety of America's highways." Sam sighed deeply, shaking his head.

"Hey!" Charlie snapped, piling some French toast on her plate. "I'm sitting right here." Charlie was staring at them archly over her glasses. Ellie giggled, both hands over her mouth, and even Missouri was laughing.

"It's really too bad we never made her a costume," Sam continued, as though Charlie hadn't said a thing, "Because she'd look really cute. Just picture it, Dean. A book bag slung over her shoulder, chasing down a demon on her scooter with her cape flying behind her." He snorted.

"When Charlie kicks your ass, I'm just going to sit back and laugh." But he couldn't keep from laughing, because he could see it – down to the pissed-off look on her face as she barreled a demon over and whacked it on the head with her book bag.

"You know," Charlie said, and Dean knew she was trying not to laugh herself, "I'm not above planning a fiendishly clever revenge for _both_ of you."

"Don't worry, Charlie. Dean owes me a quarter and I'm going to make him pay," Ellie said, breaking into a pause in their laughter. The little girl grinned. "You didn't give me a Ding Dong this morning." She turned to Charlie, stealing a piece of sausage off of Charlie's plate. "Did he give _you_ a Ding Dong this morning?"

Sam snorted again, but wisely said nothing. Missouri Mosely was holding a wooden serving spoon in one hand.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Winchesters did not do malls.

That was one of the unwritten rules of the road. The only exception was a zombie infestation, or when something nasty in Denver was wreaking havoc through a shopping center. Jess used to like going shopping, though, and Sam loved Jess; he'd spent his fair share of time sitting in a food court waiting for her to meet him – he'd always slip off to the electronics store after an hour of watching her try on clothes, and they'd meet up for lunch in front of _Tokyo Joe's_.

Going to the mall was Charlotte's idea – and her argument was hard to overrule. Ellie needed clothes and they needed to get supplies; a mall would have everything under one roof and get them back to Missouri's in time to take Ellie out for dinner. Dean wouldn't argue against anything if it was for Ellie, even if it meant braving the food court for lunch.

And Dean was in his own personal hell, hunkered back against the wall and keeping a watchful eye on his surroundings – like that old couple three tables over was going to turn into byahkees or something. Sam guessed that lunch – pizza and nachos, and there would have been beer if Dean could have found it – was a reminder that Dean was still a Winchester; even if some cute redhead had sweet-talked him into the normal world for three hours.

Ellie pointed out Charlotte as she walked slowly across the food court, a large bag from CompUSA in each hand. The little girl jumped to her feet, waving her arms to get Charlotte's attention. Charlotte smiled when she saw them, and picked her way past scattered bags from Toys R Us and three different department stores.

"Did you buy the whole freaking store?" Dean asked, taking the first bag from Charlotte and setting it next to him. Sam watched as Dean moved over on his bench to make room for the redhead, and Shemhezai chortled inside. It was just how he would move to make room for Jess.

"We needed a third laptop, and I bought one for Ellie, too." Charlotte set the second bag next to the first, and slid next to Dean. "Plus phones, and all the gear I'm going to need for research. I even found a portable printer on sale!" She smiled when she saw the nachos. Suddenly, she was grinning and reaching in for a chip slathered in greasy cheese.

Dean snorted. "Why do we need the printer?"

"Why do you need a Nerf rocket launcher?" Sam retorted. Dean shot him scowl while Charlotte giggled – and it still shocked the hell out of Sam every time she did it. "And you bought Ellie every Barbie outfit known to man," Sam added.

"Gillian and Desiree are sharing Barbie's clothes," Ellie said. "Dean was just making sure they had enough to go around. It's hard when there isn't." Sam's throat caught at the look in her eyes. That girl was never going to want for anything again, if he had any say in it.

"And they all needed a car to tool around in while they hit the town," Dean added, his voice rough as he scratched his left ear, his hazel eyes softer than just about anything when Ellie smiled up at him. Suddenly, Dean turned to Charlie and grinned. "You know, I've been wondering about something. How come there isn't a Glock Barbie or a Beretta Skipper or something? One of those chicks should know how to fire a gun," Dean added, poking Charlotte on the arm.

"If this whole demon-hunting thing goes bust, Dean, you can always fall back on a career in the fashion doll industry." Sam sipped on his root beer.

"I think there's a market for Combat Ready Barbie and her Shotgun-Wielding Friends," Charlotte said, her voice soft and serious. "Mostly boys around the mental age of twelve," she added, poking Dean on the arm. "Right, Ellie?" Ellie winked and poked Dean on his other arm before scampering off to gather with other kids around the merry-go-round in the middle of the food court.

"Using Ellie like that isn't fair." Dean's voice was undercut by a low rumble, and his mouth was twitching. His brother still looked edgy as hell, but Dean had ways of dealing with that. Sam wasn't surprised when his older brother pulled Charlotte towards him. "You play by the rules, Charlie, or I won't give you _your_ present."

"You bought me my very own Macho Machete Ken?" the redhead asked. The way Dean looked at her made Sam want to leave, especially when Dean placed his hands on her shoulders. "Is it the one with the actual knife, or the doll with the chopping action hand?" she added.

"Your present isn't costing me a thing." Dean's voice was low, and his hands were in Charlotte's hair – pulling her mouth towards his for a kiss that didn't belong in the Market Place Food Court. Dean Winchester had rallied against suburbia, and even parents were staring at him. "And I _know_ you'll be _screaming_ for it later," he added when they paused for breath. Sam actually choked on his root beer.

Charlotte put both hands on Dean's chest and pushed him away slowly. "Does this present come with an action hand?" Her voice was just as low as Dean's, but she was blushing a little.

"Nope," Dean replied, shaking his head. "Big ritual club." But he couldn't get that out without laughing, and Charlotte was chuckling into Dean's shoulder. "I found some DVDs I thought we could all watch since you're getting that fancy new computer," Dean added. "I got you _Firebug_, and something called _Babylon 5_ that looked pretty kick-ass." Dean coughed. "And that _Casablanca_ movie. But I've got to tell you, Charlie, it sure as hell _looks_ like a fucking chick flick," his older brother added accusingly.

"It's a chick flick with Nazis," Charlotte explained.

"Well, as long as there are _Nazis_." Dean rolled his eyes. He suddenly focused his attention on Ellie. She was by herself near the merry-go-round. Lots of kids were getting on it, handing tickets to the person at the gate, but she was standing behind them with her hands behind her back. "Oh, hell no," Dean proclaimed. "You tell Dad I did this, Sammy, and I'm going to kick your ass into next year." He stood up quickly and began sauntering in Ellie's direction, her face lighting up when she saw him. "You two better not eat all of the nachos before Ellie and I get back!" Dean yelled across the food court.

Sam chuckled, and Charlotte had a small smile on her face when Dean took Ellie by the hand and walked over to the little ticket booth; Dean looked more comfortable when he was breaking into a morgue. "Are you still worried that you and Dean aren't going to be okay?" Charlotte asked softly.

"No." Sam sighed, and Charlotte reached across the table to put her hand on his. "I'm worried about what's next." He twisted on the bench. "We almost lost everything back in Georgia. What happens when we reach the point where we've got nothing left _to_ lose?" He shook his head. "Is this what you expected your life to be? When you were a little kid, did you want to grow up to be the woman sitting in the backseat of my brother's car, translating a prophecy on a computer? I might not have known what I wanted to be when I was kid, but two years ago? I could have told you. I was going to be married to a beautiful girl, working in a law firm." _A beautiful girl named Jess. _

God help him. It still fucking hurt.

And Shemhezai was laughing, hard and cold against Sam's lungs.

"I was going to be Mrs. Miles Kincaid," Charlotte said. "He's the reason I wanted to be in Washington D.C. so badly, even though part of me knew it was over a long time ago." Her mouth crooked up at him. "I'm pretty inept when it comes to reading people _without_ my Gift, and the only reason he didn't break up with me eight months ago when I left was because my mother was dying." She had the same look on her face back in St. Louis after she made a second call on his cell.

"Still hurts," Sam returned, squeezing her hand. "Knowing you've lost something and can never get it back."

"It does. Here's where my daddy would say that you get something better in its place," she said, "And I might have believed him before he died. No one's going to replace her, Sam. But my daddy also used to say we're never alone even when we think we are." Charlotte raised her free hand when Dean and Ellie came into view; Ellie was waving madly at them from the merry-go-round, and Dean was trying not to look like he wanted to fling himself off the machine. "I didn't believe that, either, until I met you Winchesters. _The greatest gifts in life are people, Charlie_," she added, and her voice took on her father's accent. "_The trick is figuring that out before it's too late._"

Sam knew where this was going, and the thought made his heart stumble. "_We're_ your gifts?" Shemhezai tittered madly, singing something about Charlotte being crazy all her life, and Sam's chest ached with the lie. "You honestly _believe_ that?" Sam demanded.

"Your brother woke me up this morning and started showing me every single one of his scars. I've never had anyone touch me the way he does – like I'm beautiful, like he's proud of my scars. Proud of me." Her cheeks flushed; when she looked at Sam directly, there were tears in her eyes and he would have told her something if he could have spoken past the lump in his throat – but Sam didn't even feel a whisper of the thing riding through his rib cage. "And you? You're sitting here trying to make me feel better about the jerk who was engaged to someone else before he dumped me – thinking you can hide the fact that the thing inside of you uses your pain to try and break you," she added.

Sam knew he was staring at her like an idiot. "You're pretty emo, Charlotte Webb," he managed. But the tightness in his chest eased, and Sam grinned at her. Shemhezai was so quiet, the thing could have been dead inside.

"I'm a walking chick flick." She smiled back at him. "But that still doesn't change the fact that you're not fighting that thing alone." Charlotte snorted suddenly, and shook her head. "Big ritual _club_?" she added incredulously. "Is he always like that?"

"When he's happy," Sam replied lightly.

"Oh." And she was blushing again, turning her face away from his.

Sam smiled. Feeling Charlotte's hand on top of his – watching his older brother laugh while he balanced a little girl on a merry-go-round-horse, forgetting that people were watching him – Sam remembered something from that stupid book that Aaron was making him read. _Rarely do members of one family grow up under the same roof. _Parts of that book were crap – selfish motivations and self-help ego-stroking – but some parts were true despite where it came from; which was probably Aaron's point in the first place.

He really hadn't been alone – he was just too stubborn, too afraid of Shemhezai, to realize it. Dean had always been there for him – even after Sam left for Stanford, especially when Jess died – and there was no way in hell that Sam was leaving his family again.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Dean woke up when a soft kiss was planted on his shoulder blade. The sun was just beginning to rise but it was raining outside; he could hear the drops run down the window, the patter of rain on the roof. Thank God Charlie had shut it before they actually fell asleep. He turned around to see Charlie blinking at him sleepily. She wound a hand lazily through his hair. "Morning," she said.

He was going to pull her in his arms and go back to sleep but suddenly her hands were on his hips and Charlie was kissing him; she drew her tongue lightly across his lips, opening her mouth to him. She actually trembled, tightening her grip on his hips, when he started kissing her – making tiny moans when his lips trailed from her mouth to the sensitive hollows of her neck and hands scratched slowly down her back. "Morning," Dean answered, smiling against her clavicle.

It was too goddamn early. Hell, it wasn't even 7:00 AM – Dad had said to be at that Roadhouse place before the evening crowd; leaving by 10:00 was more than enough time to get there, even if Sam was driving. They could sleep for at least two more hours; even longer if Charlie was okay with eating Missouri's cold waffles in the car – no way she'd _not_ wash her hair. The girl had been so anal about leaving on time, they had already packed most of their stuff in the Impala after dinner. "Any reason you woke me up at the butt crack of dawn?" Dean asked.

"I couldn't sleep. I'm worried about today."

Dean chuckled. "So that means I've got to suffer with you?" She wrapped her arms around him when he began nuzzling at her neck.

"No. And I didn't mean to wake you up. I just wanted to touch you," Charlie said. It was still too dark to see her blushing, but Dean knew she was. He slipped his hands down to her breasts, brushing his palms against them. "Hey," she gasped, arching into his hands with a sigh.

"Well now that I'm _up_, might as well see how many times I can make you come before the alarm goes off." Dean kissed her neck, right where she liked it. "Make this whole thing worth my while."

"You are such a prick!" Charlie laughed softly, but she still looked worried. She took a deep breath, kissed him hard, and then one hand shot out to touch him underneath his arm.

She was _tickling_ him, giggling a little – which was better than laying next to him, one long bundle of anxiety. But he hoped like hell she hadn't heard him giggling back at her. Dean grabbed Charlie's hand by the wrist. Undeterred, she wiggled against him and attacked with her other hand. She was more vicious than a chupacabra when she was tickling someone. _Right._ Dean rolled Charlie onto her back, pinning her down as he straddled her – arms held above her head at the wrists. Red hair spread around her, and he knew she wasn't leaving the bed until she was good and laid.

Charlie's eyes widened when she felt him. "You like it when a girl plays a little rough," she said, emphasizing the comment with a dangerous lift of her hips.

"If you can't play with the big dogs, stay on the porch."

Charlie bent to meet his mouth as he traced circles on her right breast. "Please don't tell me that's a nickname for your testicles, Dean." _Fuck me._ Her voice was breathy when she added, "I won't know where to start. Mr. Happy and the Big Dogs is wrong on _so_ many levels."

"What's so wrong about it," Dean retorted. Sounded pretty damn good to him, actually – almost wished he had thought it up himself. _Big Dogs. _He grinned. Dean could feel her heart marking time against him as he let go of her wrists, his hands entangled in her hair. "You jealous or something, Charlie?"

"Of the college cover band you're stashing in your pants?" Charlie asked, sarcasm undercut by an intake of breath when Dean's lips brushed her left nipple. "You've got me," she added with another lift of her pelvis. They both shuddered from the friction. "I lie awake at night wishing I had come up with the nickname Bananarama for my - "

Dean's mouth came down hard on hers, her heart still stumbling against his chest. He didn't know if it was because of him or that stupid Roadhouse. She brought her hands up to touch his hair, and then tightened her arms around his neck. Charlie pulled back, gasping, and he grabbed her, pushed down against her to kiss her harder, his left hand trailing down her side as a low moan escaped from her throat.

There was a click on the nightstand and the alarm went off, filling the room with the end of _Sweet Home Alabama_. Dean pulled away from Charlie's mouth, glanced at the clock. "You set the alarm for _7:00_ _AM_?"

"I didn't want to mess things up by being late, Dean," Charlie answered, and her face crumpled. The fear right underneath the surface rising the moment she remembered it. "Those people have enough reason to hate me."

"You knew this wasn't going to be easy, Charlie. You told me yourself." Dean's voice was low, and he tried to sound calm – but his stomach was a cold pit. _What the hell, Winchester…_

"But – " Charlie began.

"But nothing. Only reason we'll be late is if something bad happens and that won't be _your_ fault." He started pushing her knees apart with his own, feeling the tension in her thighs. "And so what if these people hate you? You're not staying with them. Ellie loves you and I think Geek Boy does, too." Dean whispered it low in his throat. "Fuck those assholes." She moaned softly when he entered her, grazing her neck with his teeth as she stretched into him. "You're staying with _us_," he added, thrusting as she hooked her right leg around his.

Dean didn't say anything else because he'd already said too much, just crashed into her while she pulled up to kiss him roughly; nails sliding down his back. He groaned into her mouth, and the rain outside was falling harder; like heartbeats on the roof. It was easy after that, letting the music wash through them, a song they both knew dragging them under and saying more than he ever should; voices and skin, dancing in each other, until they were the only ones left.

_Catch a ride to the end of the highway  
and we'll meet by the big red tree,  
There's a place up ahead and I'm goin'  
come along, come along with me._

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A/N:

That little smartass duck is none other than the fantastic Plucky Duck from _Tiny Toons Adventures_. I'm not biased or anything. And, yes, Virginia, that was a _Spaceballs_ reference. _Firebug _is, indeed, _Firefly_. Dean suffers through entirely too many quotes between Charlie and Sam. And everyone should own all of _Babylon 5_. Everyone!!!!! (I'm an equal-opportunity fangirl. Besides, Marcus was hot.)

The song Charlie sings in the bathroom is "Know Your Chicken" by Cibo Matto.

Perhaps I can't entirely blame Percocet for Samuel Davis Winchester. The evil side of me wishes this were actually canon, so Dean could really piss Sam off by singing "The Candy Man."

A byahkee is a monster from Lovecraft's Cthulhu mythos. I just needed a name for a monster, and that was suitably exotic. I'm not going to bring Cthulhu into my Enochian Armageddon. (Although, now that I think on it…)

The title of this chapter is a song by Creedence Clearwater Revival.

At this point, you definitely know the drill: Criticism is always welcome, and comments make my inner fangirl dizzy. (Well, dizzier. I am, by nature, very dizzy in my head.)


	14. Carry That Weight

This is set sometime after the end of Season 1. While it doesn't break canon to my knowledge, it is definitely AU. John's getting ready to see the boys.

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Disclaimer: The Winchester boys aren't mine. The Colt isn't mine. Wish the car was mine. But I can only blame myself for the Circle of Enoch.

Characters: Sam Winchester, John Winchester, Ellen Harvelle

Rating: PG (Angst, mostly.)

Summary: The oldest secrets are the hardest to tell.

Feedback: Absolutely! Concrit is always welcome!

Miscellaneous: As always, this would not have been possible without the brilliance of JMM0001, who helped me ensure that the epilogue was, indeed, the epilogue. Much thanks to wenchpixie, who always manages to make me smile…even when my writing is not. The good parts are because of them. The bad parts are all me.

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**Epilogue: Carry That Weight**

His cell phone buzzed against his hip the moment he picked up the shot glass. "Hello?"

"Hey, Dad." It was Sam. He sounded tired as hell, but nothing like the description Missouri had given him the day before. John tried to picture what his son looked like now – how Sam walked into her house like a veteran, she said, as hollow inside as any soldier who sacrificed everything for his duty. Covered in healing wounds and week-old bruises. A swollen eye that he claimed had been ripped out by a demon. "Are you there?" his little boy asked, and John felt the catch in his throat.

It was always the little boy in Sam's voice that got him.

"Where's Dean?" It was the first question John could think to ask. The last thing he wanted was to fight with the boy.

Sam sucked in a breath, not expecting the question. "He's…in the gas station. Buying some lunch," his youngest son returned, and he wasn't trying to hide something but he wasn't telling the whole truth. Suddenly, Sam sighed. "Dean said you wanted us to call when we got to Nebraska and – " Sam coughed. "There's some stuff I need to talk to you about, Dad."

"Been getting Dean's messages. I know what's going on, son."

"No, Dad. You really _don't_." And that's when Sam sounded so empty inside, John wished he were standing in front of him – he'd say all the things he should have, before Sam went to Stanford. About the Prophecy. About how much his mother loved him, was willing to sacrifice her friends – some as close as family – so that Sam could be hidden from the Circle. _Maybe he'd have stayed if I did._

"It can wait until you get here." John tried to smile. Someone had told him once that you could hear a smile over the phone. "I want you boys to get here before the Roadhouse opens. We need some time to talk before there's a crowd. You tell Dean. No later than 7:30, Sam." His boys didn't need to know why. They'd figure it out soon enough when they got there.

"I will." Sam sighed, and John heard his mouth open. Another intake of breath, like Sam was trying to figure out how to say something else without arguing. "I know this hasn't been easy on you. Keeping Mom's secret." John almost chuckled as Sam coughed nervously – he should have known the boy would put all the pieces together. "I'm the one you should be worried about now; one day, I'm going to wake up and it won't be the demon in my belly. It'll be the other way around."

Sam waited but John couldn't say anything. There was no entry in Dr. Spock about how to talk to your son when he was telling you about the demon inside of him, the one that crawled deep in his bowels while it ate him alive. Not even a paragraph. Even Jim would have been hard pressed to come up with a response to _that_ bald admission. Sam swallowed and added, "But we've got a plan. Dean and I. So the thing won't Ascend."

"A plan?" It was something to focus on that made sense. Winchesters always had a plan.

"The Twelve. We're going to find the rest of them before the Circle of Enoch does." Sam was matter-of-fact – just like when he was explaining to his friends how to fight with a sword. "Charlotte's coming with us. But Ellie…" He could almost see Sam shaking his shaggy hair, wearing that perplexed expression he'd been sporting since the age of two. "We can't take her with us. We want to leave her at this place you've got set up, but we need to know it's safe for her. She's special, Dad." Sam's voice was soft, but it was almost a warning. "They _both_ are."

_That_ was an understatement. Ellie Jenkins was so powerful, Missouri Mosely was scared to have her in the guest room, and Charlotte Anne Webb was Circle-trained – and they were _both_ part of the Twelve. Mothers of Legions. John had read enough to know what that meant. Looking for the _rest_ of them was the dumbest thing he'd ever heard. John coughed. "They'll both be safe here, son. It's hallowed ground."

"This isn't about safe. It never was." Sam's voice was steely, and it got that edge that John remembered so well. "But we're not letting Ellie fight until the _end_ of this thing." John heard voices in the background. _Dean._ His oldest son sounded like he was singing some song with a bad Japanese accent, and other voices were laughing – which only made Dean sing louder. "So, we'll see you when we get there. Okay?" Sam added.

It was the end of the conversation.

John wouldn't ask to speak to Dean. Even muffled by the distance between himself and Sam's cell phone, the boy sounded happy – John couldn't even remember how long it had been since that had happened. Not since Azazeal attacked them in that shack.

But his oldest son wasn't a fool. "That Dad?" Dean asked. "Let me talk to him!" John knew he couldn't do that, because then he'd have to tell Dean that his mother knew he was Gifted all along. That Dean's Gift was hidden to keep him safe. How many times had John caught Dean crying because he felt someone, some poor kid in the playground but usually Sam with a skinned knee or a lost toy, and John told him it was all in his head?

John Winchester told that lie so well, Dean sealed himself off completely.

John swallowed. "And we'll talk more then, son." He closed the phone and set it on the bar. He didn't even give Sam a chance to say goodbye, heard Dean's angry voice and hung up right when Dean called out 'Dad, wait!'

John slammed the shot of Jack Daniels into the back of his throat, and swallowed. The boys might never forgive him for what he'd done, all the secrets he had kept from them once they knew the truth; probably wouldn't forgive him for what he was going to do – but John Winchester had to know. Two decades of fighting the Circle of Enoch made a man cautious. Those girls were a threat to his boys that he could not ignore.

Jo was getting ready for the night, pulling chairs off tables and wiping them down, and some of the boys were giving her a hard time – watching her as she worked while they finished up their lunch. Colin and Pat liked to give her crap, tell her what they'd do to her if she took them down into the store room. Jo never did; just gave them crap right back. He used to wonder what his sons would make of her; Jo was as much of a con artist as Dean with an attention for detail that rivaled Sam's.

And no self-respecting Winchester could ever turn down a blonde.

John didn't even have to close his eyes to see her, eyes laughing as her hair swirled around her in the wind and the sunshine. Mary would always smile when he called her his angel, brushing his hair backwards as he lay on her stomach – listening to the small heartbeat inside that was his oldest son. He already knew about her, at least what she believed about her family for all that she had left it, and John wasn't about to call the woman he loved a liar regardless. If Mary said she could feel people's emotions, there was nothing she had ever done that showed otherwise.

She took a man broken by war, suffering from the flashbacks and the horror, and turned him into a functional human being again. John Winchester would have loved her for that alone.

When Mary started getting visions – slamming into the ground, arms covering her eyes as her entire body writhed in pain – about a war that was coming, John knew he'd always be at her side. He was a soldier. It's what he was trained to do. He might not have any fancy God-given gift, might not be able to fight with a sword like Michael or inspire people like Aaron, but John Winchester would fight for the woman he loved and the toddler she carried in her arms.

John remembered that night as though it were yesterday, sitting next to Aaron when that KISS song came on – how Aaron thought that was funny, but his laugh was heartbreaking. Aaron knew better than anyone that they'd never speak to each other again, after the bombs tore down the Repository and decimated the Circle's archives. But eight children would be saved, scattered to the winds, with those who were Called and those who were Chosen to protect them until they were strong enough to save the world.

John wasn't Beata. Protecting the world wasn't his sacred duty, a trust passed down for generations, but he stood by their side all the same. For his wife. For his son. And for the boy who was coming.

That never kept him from being Called, all the same.

Except John's Call didn't come from God; it was a scream from Mary. The night those bastards pinned her to the ceiling, gutted and then burned her, was the night the Circle of Enoch Chose John Winchester as the agent of their downfall. He knew exactly who it was; couldn't be anyone else with the children unharmed – even Dean, just as Blessed as Sam with no one the wiser. And Sam could spin the mobile above his crib just by giggling and smiling at it.

He didn't know when Missouri showed up in Lawrence, whether it happened before Mary died or if the Beata had somehow figured out that something was coming. John hadn't tried to call or contact any of them, even though he suspected Aaron was always living at that big old farmhouse of his and Mary made him memorize the number just in case he needed it some day. John was just going down the list of psychics in the phone book, finding someone who would give him a place to start, and he showed up on her white porch with the boys in tow.

Her eyes had widened when she saw him, one hand brushing Sam's forehead the way that Mary always did, and she ushered them all inside – a different name, but the same Eugenia who smacked her brother on the back of the head or argued with Delilah when they were making plans. And they talked. She listened to him ramble and made Dean eat pie, and John started to get a glimmer of hope – not that he could win, but that he would shove his war down the Circle of Enoch's throat anyway.

There was no way in hell they were getting Sam.

So he started running, teaching his boys what he could so they could protect themselves – making contacts across the country, finding like-minded people who knew something was coming and would help him make that stand. Jim. Bobby. Caleb. Bill. And when he learned that Harvelle's Roadhouse was built on consecrated ground, John knew he had his base of operations – a place sanctified against darkness, proof against the demonic things the Circle could throw at them. And when that wasn't enough, there was an army built out of people who lost something, who were willing to lay down their lives for a cause bigger than everything if it saved the world.

And that's exactly what John raised his sons to do, all the while burying the reasons _why_ deep inside – buried under whiskey and the occasional lay – as he watched his boys become men.

He planned on telling them someday, when the prophecy began unfolding. Sam had other plans, and Stanford was part of that. And Stanford was probably how the Circle found him. John always wondered why they waited until last year to strike, except he remembered something Missouri had told him once about discipline being important and how a college education helped with that mindset. But John had a feeling the Circle would move, so he went into hiding – hoping the Circle would think he was deeper on Azazeal's trail than he really was, hoping the Circle would chase him and leave the boy alone.

He'd been played. Days after he went into hiding, Sam became the Circle's target. It was Dean – his smart-mouthed broken son, cursed with a Gift no one could teach him how to use – who managed to keep his family together.

Azazeal didn't throw Dean up on the ceiling when it caught up with his boys, but it sliced into Dean all the same – making his son bleed while the thing taunted him with the voice of his own father. John shuddered, remembering that touch – however briefly – inside him. Like a stone pressing into his chest, the fire burning in his brain. He still felt unclean, oily as all hell. Like years had been taken off his life during those minutes, and not a day went by where he didn't try to scour the stink of brimstone out of his hair.

"Little early to be drinking, Winchester." Ellen picked up the bottle of whiskey and poured another shot in John's glass, and then she slammed another shot glass beside his and poured one of her own. The sound brought him back to himself, and he snorted. "You've barely finished your lunch," she added, inclining her head to the half-eaten sandwich on the plate in front of him.

Her daughter was selecting another song on the jukebox, and Jo certainly had a gift for choosing the one song a man didn't want to hear on the goddamn thing.

_Boy, you gotta carry that weight  
Carry that weight a long time  
_

"Your daughter is perverse," John said finally, clinking his glass with Ellen's before they both drank them down.

"Takes after her father," Ellen laughed in her husky voice. Blonde hair, darker than Mary's, and eyes that shone all the same. John wondered if she knew why he kept coming back after Bill died, why he never pushed, besides the obvious. But Ellen never asked and he never pressed. "I'm guessing your sons don't fall far from the tree."

"Sam fell farther than Dean," John acknowledged. He looked Ellen in the eyes, sighed. "I should have been the one to tell them, Ellen. They found out about the Circle from a stranger."

"Maybe so," she replied, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear – just like Mary used to when they took Dean to the park. "But they know now." She grinned at him. "And it's not like you've got long to wait to clear the air. They'll be here in a couple hours."

But they weren't coming alone and, no matter how he tried, John couldn't look the other way.

Missouri had warned him that things wouldn't be how he expected, warned him about the girls that his sons had picked up along the way – how the shock of both would cut him to the quick. The little girl who was barely six but glowed with such power, almost as bright as Sam – not that John would see it, but he took Missouri's word. And Charlotte Webb; there was a secret there that even Missouri wouldn't tell. His sons were willingly traveling with the daughter of _that_ woman.

John Winchester would just see about that.

They were going to test them both, make certain they were exactly what they said they were. Missouri believed their story – even if the idea of two of the Twelve walking around like normal people scared the hell out of her – but the Beata had been fooled before. If they were infallible, the Circle would not have fallen and John wouldn't be fighting the damn war in the first place. "We should go over the plan again," he said. "I don't want any mistakes once those girls get here. If they're the threat I think they are, we're all dead."

Ellen's eyes widened. "You actually think a _six-year-old_ is a threat, John?"

"What better way to make us drop our guard than to send a child here?" he retorted. "And don't even get me started on the other one. Circle-trained?" John snorted. "That means she's got a psychic Gift, and years of martial arts training. And they're _both_ part of the Twelve? That's too much of a coincidence, El."

"Doesn't feel right telling those boys this is a safe place, and then setting a trap." Ellen could be damn stubborn, but suddenly she shook her head. "No, you're right." She raised her voice. "Jo, honey, round up the boys and get some beer from the store room." Jo made a face, but started calling out names all the same. Ellen's eyes focused on John's face. "But what if those girls are innocent?"

It was the million dollar question, but he couldn't take their story on face value. He'd do whatever it took to keep his boys safe. No matter how much it would hurt seeing their faces when the plan went down. But if those girls were from the Circle, John would know and he'd deal with them; they wouldn't be the boys' problem anymore. _But what if those girls are innocent?_ John sighed. He'd figure something out. He knew Dean would toe the line; it was the first lesson. The only lesson. Keeping Sam safe was all that mattered.

_I'm the one you should be worried about now; one day, I'm going to wake up and it won't be the demon in my belly. It'll be the other way around._

Ellen poured him another shot.

* * *

A/N:

John's reference to Mary healing him was, indeed, meant to be taken as a nod to PTSD. I haven't decided how much of an impact this will have on the overall story.

The title of the chapter is a song by The Beatles.

And because this can never be said enough: This little romp through the world of Apocryphal prophecy would not have been possible without the fabulous J and my brain-twin wenchpixie. I am a much better writer for having met these ladies. I'd also like to thank the folks who took the time to read this; it's a little out there, and I appreciated the time taken to do so.

The next story in the series is called _Beneath the Hollow_.


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